Framed
by Deb3
Summary: 9th in the Fearful Symmetry series. Horatio's exwife is killed, and he's the prime suspect.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Framed  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Not my characters, blah, blah, so forth. Thanks to HG for naming Breeze and to Marianne for a quick consultation on which dog breed Speed reminds us most of.  
  
Series to Date: Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary. All archived at Lonely Road.  
  
Preview of Coming Attractions: I'll give you a preview at the end of this one. I don't want you trying to work out the next story instead of focusing on Framed. This one is serious angst, next one is serious angst, and the one after that is light and fluffy to give you a chance to catch your breath.  
  
A/N: Okay, so the title gives it away, and everyone knows where I'm going. Enjoy the journey anyway, will you? This story keys from Fearful Symmetry and Anniversary. Even if you haven't read the rest of the series, you must read those two first to make any sense of this one. And remember while reading this one (and the next one, for that matter), I absolutely, unequivocally state that I will NEVER write a story that does not have a happy ending. Life has enough unhappy endings; I refuse to add to the total. I just don't promise that getting there will be easy. Hope you enjoy Framed. Cliffhanger warnings apply.  
  
***  
  
"Whose grave's this?" . . . "One that was a woman, sir; but rest her soul, she's dead."  
  
William Shakespeare, Hamlet  
  
***  
  
They pounded up the hill on even terms. Calleigh put every ounce of determination into the effort, but she still couldn't shake him. He ran by her side as fluidly as a gazelle. As always, the fact that he wouldn't charge on ahead made her think for a minute that he was at the limit, but every time she found more, so did he. She started laughing finally, the race dissolving in the face of her humor. He stopped instantly when she did, smiling at her. She did at least have the satisfaction of seeing that he was sweating. "One of these days, Horatio Caine," she panted, "I'm going to beat you up that hill."  
  
"I look forward to it," he said and ducked as she swung at him.  
  
"How much faster could you do it? I know you're holding back for me."  
  
"Oh, we're getting close to the limit." He pulled out his water bottle and offered it to her first, ever the gentleman. She sucked the cool liquid in eagerly as they started walking back toward home.  
  
"Yeah, right," she protested when she finally came up for air. "You have an unfair advantage over me in running, you know. If my legs were as long as yours, I'd beat you." She returned the water bottle, and he took a drink himself.  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, Cal, I promise to get thoroughly humiliated by you at something else." He took another swallow of the water. "We really were pushing it today, though. I'm getting too old to take a week off." This Sunday run was the first time in a week that either of them had even been out of the house. They had spent the last two days sleeping, both slowly recharging from a hellish week that had drained them completely but that Horatio had called the best it had been in 29 years. She still cringed thinking of what he must be comparing it to.  
  
"Horatio, you aren't old. We're growing young together, remember?" He grinned at her and tucked her arm under his lightly as they walked on.  
  
"Thank you again for staying with me this week. It made a big difference. I'm almost glad you've got this conference, though."  
  
"Trying to get rid of me?"  
  
"Not on your life. I just think you need a break after babysitting me for a week."  
  
She squeezed his arm. "Some of our activities would have gotten any babysitter arrested." He gave her his quirky smile. "And it isn't babysitting, Horatio. It's called marriage. Sharing life together, no matter what. It's worth it. You're worth it." She hadn't realized until this last week that he had had someone in his life tell him he wasn't worth it, that no one would ever think he was worth it. The idea of his ex-wife dropping that load on Horatio, who already had been through more than ten people should have to face, still raised her blood pressure.  
  
"I keep telling you, Calleigh, Marcella wasn't a bad person. It just wasn't love. This is." He squeezed her in turn.  
  
"Horatio, I think you're a mind reader."  
  
"No, you should see your eyes when you get mad. You can almost hear the bullets dropping into the chambers. Totally lethal. Impossible to miss."  
  
She laughed, shaken out of the mood. "You should see yours. If mine are guns, yours are lasers." They walked on a way. "Are you sure you'll be okay tonight?"  
  
"Positive. I always sleep like a baby these nights. Reaction to the last week, I guess."  
  
She still was slightly uneasy. She was leaving this afternoon, driving to a two-day weapons conference upstate that started tomorrow morning. Calleigh had been invited to give a talk on ballistics techniques on Tuesday morning, her first ever speaking invitation, and Horatio had insisted she take it, saying that a conference on April 10th and 11th would be well past the point when he would have any problems. She studied him surreptitiously as they walked. His eyes were clear, the granite lines of his face relaxed. He did indeed seem fine now, just still a little tired. And he ought to know, after so many years. Still . . . "I wish you were coming with me."  
  
"So do I. I'd love to hear you Tuesday. I'll be thinking of you, whatever I'm doing then." His eyes rested on her with a love and pride that warmed her clear to her toes. Not lasers at all right now but blue suns. She could almost feel her soul stretching like a flower to meet them, drawing sustenance from him.  
  
"It's only for two nights, at least. The conference ends early enough that I can drive back Tuesday night. Might get home late, though." Surely he would be all right alone for just two days. He would have the rest of the team to talk to and work to bury himself in. Not much could happen between now and Tuesday night, she told herself.  
  
"I'll wait up for you. Got to welcome you home. Look at it this way, Cal. This is the first time one of us has been to a conference that I'll get to kiss you goodbye."  
  
She rested her own eyes on him, sizing up his lean, vibrant form. "I had something more extensive in mind." Not pistols at all now, he thought, but kaleidoscopes of warm invitation that pulled his soul in.  
  
"Why are we walking so slowly, then?" He picked up an easy jog, and she fell into step beside him, heading for home. Her home. His home. Their home. In spite of the last week, Calleigh had never in her life felt so loved and secure. Nothing could overcome them there, not even their demons of the past. She sped up, eager to get back, and he increased his pace as well, matching her stride exactly, never running on ahead.  
  
***  
  
Horatio entered CSI Monday morning eager to get back into harness. Speed was talking to Alexx in the hallway as he came in, and he headed that way, glad to see his friends again, even though it had only been a week.  
  
"So there's this girl . . .Hey, H. How was vacation?"  
  
"Even better than I'd hoped for," he said truthfully. He was trying to sound casual, but Alexx shot him an odd look. Speed didn't notice anything behind the remark, focused on his own point.  
  
"Anyway, Alexx, I met this woman back just before Christmas. That night I went out with Eric to a club. She was great, and we really hit it off. She rides a bike, even." Eric wandered out of the break room, coffee in hand, and joined them.  
  
"So what's the problem you wanted my advice on?" asked Alexx.  
  
"Well, turns out, she was just visiting relatives here. She lived in Vermont. So we never even got a chance to go out. We gave each other our numbers, though, and we've talked a few times and written e-mails and stuff."  
  
"You wrote a woman for five months?" Eric couldn't believe it.  
  
"Sounds serious," said Horatio with a smile.  
  
"She wrote more than I did," Speed admitted. "Then I got a call this weekend from her. She's got a job down in Miami, and she's moved down here. So I asked her out for tomorrow night."  
  
"Still don't see a problem," said Alexx.  
  
"The thing is, what do we do?"  
  
Eric snorted. "You've been on dates before."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't want to screw up on this one. She's really nice. So do I take her out to a nice restaurant? Not so nice restaurant? Or maybe I should cook something at my place. Only my cooking isn't great. Maybe we could order pizza. I mean, how much of a date should I consider it? We've never even been out. Maybe she just wants to get away from unpacking." Speed was so sincere that Horatio felt like laughing at his expression, but he stifled the urge. Speed did need a good, steady girlfriend, and if he'd actually written to this one for the last five months, she seemed like a promising candidate.  
  
Alexx assumed her motherly advice expression. "If you've been in touch with her since December, and given that she called you, I think you can safely call it a date. More than just welcome to Miami. On what to do, just think of what you'd like to do. How would you want to spend an evening?"  
  
"Pizza, beer, and movies," said Speed. "But what if she's expecting something else?"  
  
"If she's expecting something else, you can just agree to be friends. That's worth a lot right there. But don't put on an act for her. That's no way to start things off. Let her see who you are, then let her decide whether to go on with it."  
  
"Maybe I should clean up the apartment a bit, though," Speed wondered.  
  
"Man, you really -are- serious," said Eric. Joking aside, he was thrilled for his friend.  
  
"Cleaning up the apartment a bit wouldn't hurt," offered Horatio. "Just draw the line at wearing a formal tux for her. The letdown later would be too much." The idea of Speed in a formal tux cracked them all up, Speed included.  
  
"You mean that brunette at the club at Christmas, right? Breeze?"  
  
Speed was impressed. "How'd you remember her name? You can't remember who you went out with a month ago."  
  
"I thought you two looked cute together."  
  
Speed punched his friend lightly on the arm. "I don't -want- to look cute, Delko. If she wants cute, she can get a kitten."  
  
Horatio intervened. "Her name is Breeze?"  
  
"Actually, it's Dana Silver. Breeze is a biking joke. She said she'd outraced all the guys in her home town."  
  
"Well, we all wish you luck," said Alexx sincerely.  
  
Horatio's cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Horatio. Where? We're on it." He closed the phone and looked at his team, all of them suddenly serious and professional. "We've got a DB found in a field outside Miami. Woman in an open grave. Let's go."  
  
***  
  
The team exited the Hummer at the edge of a field, and Tripp ducked under the crime scene tape to meet them. "We've got a really sick perp here," he warned. "He poured acid or something on her face. Totally destroyed it."  
  
They followed him to the grave. It was about a foot deep, long enough to lay the body in full length, but there had been no attempt to cover it at all. The sight shook all of them for a minute, even as seasoned as they were. Blood covered the woman's chest, probably from a gunshot wound to the heart, Horatio decided. Her hair had been completely shaved off, and acid had been poured over the features until the face was totally disintegrated. No one would be identifying this body from a photo. In fact, Horatio hoped that her relatives would never have to see her.  
  
"Just the face," he said with quiet respect. "Hopefully she was dead first, at least."  
  
Delko was snapping pictures. "Maybe her fingerprints are on file. Hands look pretty intact."  
  
"Too intact," said Horatio. "See the plastic?" The long clear sheet of plastic was under the body with flaps resting on the edges of the grave. "That was over her completely, wasn't it, Tripp?"  
  
"Right. Tucked in around the edges, too. The man who found her opened it up, to see if she was alive."  
  
"Bet he has nightmares tonight," said Speed. He thought he might have them himself.  
  
"And the plastic protected the body from flies and insects. It slowed down decomp." Horatio tilted his head slightly, studying the whole scene. He had the oddest sense of familiarity here, like he had run into a case similar to this one before. For once, though, his file cabinet memory failed him. He looked around further. "The perp came into the field from that direction, but he raked over all of his footprints and tire tracks. Not a hope of casts."  
  
"This guy thinks of everything," said Speed.  
  
"They never think of everything," corrected Horatio. He knelt at the edge of the grave, inspecting her more closely, leaning over the face without touching it. "We need to be careful handling this one. Whatever kind of acid he's used, we don't want it on our hands. It might eat through normal gloves, so everybody take extra precautions." The team nodded. Alexx knelt on the other side of the grave, probing the chest wound, not the face.  
  
"Bullet to the heart. At least you never felt the rest of it, did you, angel?"  
  
Horatio was fishing in her pockets. No ID, but he did pull out a folded typed note. It was dated at the top, April 4th, but started without a name. He read it out loud. "Meet me at 10:00 tonight at the truck stop. You know which one. Good news. Karen."  
  
"A woman perp?" Eric couldn't imagine a woman doing this. On the other hand, it was hard to imagine anyone doing this.  
  
"I don't think so," said Horatio, thinking it through. "Probably just a decoy, to get her there. We'll try to find Karen after we get an ID, though. The big question is, why leave the note on the body? What does it tell us?"  
  
"The name," Speed suggested. "The perp wants to frame Karen."  
  
"Could be," said Horatio, "but I think the important part is the date. April 4th. He's telling us when she died. And in an open grave, he wanted her found. But why?" He stood up and looked around again. The grave was far enough off the road for privacy, especially in the dark, but not so far that it wouldn't be found within a week or so. The road was fairly busy. "How was she found, Tripp?"  
  
"Truck driver. He stopped and went into the field to take a leak."  
  
"I want his shoes, to compare to these footprints. They have to be his, though. You can see this whole area has been raked. Hopefully there's more on the body to talk to us." He studied the grave again and shook his head slightly.  
  
"H?" Speed was puzzled.  
  
"I keep feeling like I've run into something like this before. Some case I read about, maybe, not one I worked on. I can't quite capture it, though."  
  
"We can run details through the databases," said Eric. "Open graves, acid. See if we can match the perp's signature."  
  
"One thing I do remember," said Horatio. "I was at a conference about two years ago, and an FBI profiler gave a talk on criminals. He said that when the face is obliterated beyond anything needed for death, it's usually a relative or someone close to the vic. Someone with a personal vendetta. It's an attempt to depersonalize her, rub out her identity. Shaving off all her hair does the same thing. So, the first thing is to get an ID, then check out her relatives and friends. Maybe there's more trace evidence on the body. And let's check the plastic for fingerprints, too, although anyone smart enough to rake out the tire tracks probably wore gloves. Also, Speed, measure the raked area. He wouldn't have done more than he had to, not in the dark. It at least gives us width of the vehicle." The team stepped back, and the ME's people, wearing heavy duty gloves, started carefully removing the body from the grave. What a start to the week, Horatio thought. Whoever you are, you didn't think of everything. You will pay for this. He turned and headed for the Hummer.  
  
***  
  
Horatio entered the autopsy room and carefully pulled on a set of heavy duty gloves. Alexx was already wearing hers. "What can you tell me, Alexx?"  
  
"I'm just getting started. We took samples of the face, to try to identify the acid. Maybe it's hard to get hold of."  
  
"Good idea. The boys can try to track it down."  
  
"The body has been very carefully handled, but I also did recover one hair from the face tissue. I sent it up to trace. We also took her fingerprints. Eric's going to run them. I'm just trying to recover the bullet, now." She probed in the wound. "Ah, there you are." She pulled out the piece of metal, and Horatio provided a container to put it in.  
  
"We'll get that down to Ballistics. I wish Calleigh was here." He smiled, thinking of her, and Alexx grinned back at him across the body.  
  
"There are other ballistics staff."  
  
"Not like her."  
  
"Nobody's quite like her," Alexx agreed. Alexx started gingerly removing the clothes from the body to send them for analysis. Horatio helped her, rolling the woman gently from side to side. Alexx dropped the shirt in one of their paper sacks, then went to the feet, removing the shoes and socks. "Poor baby, we'll get who did this to you. What do we have here?" She had stopped with the left sock halfway off. "A birthmark. That's an odd looking one."  
  
Horatio came around beside her, looking over her shoulder. The woman had an irregular brown splotch on the inside of her left ankle, about two inches across, shaped like a flower with some of the petals missing. Horatio abruptly felt dizzy and caught the edge of the table for support.  
  
"Horatio! Are you okay?" Alexx hesitated halfway to grabbing his arm, not wanting to get the acid on her gloves on him.  
  
His voice was tight, distant. "We can forget the fingerprints, Alexx. I can identify her. This is my ex-wife." 


	2. Framed 2

Here's part 2. See part 1 for disclaimers, etc., etc. Warning: The cliffhangers get even more cliffy for the first few chapters. We have to go down before we can climb back up. Thanks for the feedback, and I'm glad so many of you liked part 1.  
  
***  
  
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." "Long past?" inquired Scrooge. . . "No. Your past."  
  
Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol."  
  
***  
  
Horatio sat at his desk in his office, doing paperwork. He had deliberately picked the most mundane task he could think of, to try to convince himself that the world was an orderly place. His mind was far from orderly at the moment, though.  
  
"Horatio?" He looked up at Alexx, standing uncertainly in the door of his office. She obviously wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk or not. He nodded toward the chair in front of his desk, and she came across to sit down. He didn't even notice she had coffee until she handed him one of the cups.  
  
"Thanks," he said, taking a gulp. It burned his tongue, but it was worth it.  
  
Alexx didn't ask if he was okay. She didn't want to force him to lie to her. The lie would only add to the things bothering him at the moment. "Horatio," she started gently, "I really think you should get out of this case and leave it to the boys."  
  
"I'm already off it," he said. He had no intention of making himself work this one. Justice needed to be done, but he had confidence in his team, and he knew his own limits, even if he didn't admit them.  
  
Alexx let out a small sigh of relief. He apparently was going to be reasonable. "I also think you ought to call Calleigh and get her to come back tonight." She modified her assessment, watching his expression. He wasn't going to be that reasonable.  
  
"She's speaking at that conference tomorrow morning. It's been planned for months, and they've paid all her expenses already. Everyone at the conference is expecting her. She has an obligation there. I'll tell her, but not until after the conference is over. Besides, it's a real honor for her. She deserves it."  
  
He did want her to come back, Alexx could tell. Having finally discovered how to share problems with someone, he no longer wanted to be alone in them. But he would never rank himself ahead of an obligation. She sighed again, this time in exasperation. Telling him to think of himself for once would be pointless, like telling him to stop breathing. At least he didn't seem to be totally shutting down and denying that anything was wrong this time. Calleigh had gotten under his defenses. If she knew, she would come back tonight, obligations or not.  
  
Horatio read her mind. "I don't want you calling her and telling her to come back tonight either. I'll be alright. I hadn't even seen Marcella in eight years. I mourned for her a long time ago."  
  
Alexx leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. "As a wife, maybe, but not as a person. And to see her like that. . ."  
  
"I kept thinking something was familiar at the scene, but I couldn't pin it down. I can't believe I didn't recognize her, though, even without a face."  
  
"Her own mother wouldn't have recognized her." She saw him recoil and knew instantly that it was the wrong thing to say, but she wasn't sure why.  
  
Horatio took another quick gulp of coffee as the mental image of Marcella was replaced by the far worse one of his mother, whose face had also been destroyed beyond recognition. That one, at least, he knew how to deal with now, thanks to Calleigh. He closed his eyes and pictured his mother in life, with all the warmth and strength of her personality. It worked after a few seconds, and he opened his eyes to find Alexx watching him worriedly. "I don't want you calling Calleigh," he repeated. "Let her get through her presentation tomorrow. She'll be back tomorrow night anyway."  
  
Alexx hesitated. How far should she intervene in the name of friendship? She reluctantly decided to leave it alone. It was only one more day. There was no reason why she couldn't try to fill in for Calleigh a bit in the meantime, though. She couldn't replace her, but anything was better than nothing. "All right, then, I won't. But I want you to come home with me after work tonight," she said. "I'll make spaghetti and meatballs." She knew it was one of his favorites.  
  
He accepted the distraction. Calleigh really was making progress with him, Alexx thought. "Okay, I will. Thank you, Alexx." His cell phone rang at that moment, and he answered. Alexx continued watching him during the conversation. How much can one man be asked to deal with in life? It just isn't fair, she thought.  
  
Horatio ended the call. "There's another case down by the beach. I'll take this one myself."  
  
Losing himself in work would probably be good for him. "See you later, then." She reached out and gave his arm a light, sympathetic squeeze as he went by. He hesitated for a second, then went on. Alexx sat there alone in his office for a long time after he left, staring at the phone, but she did not call Calleigh.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, H!" Speed's voice halted Horatio right before he exited CSI. He turned around to face the trace expert.  
  
Speed came up to him uncertainly. He wasn't sure what to say to people half the time under normal circumstances, and he was really lost here. Communication had never been his forte. "Um, I'm sorry, H."  
  
"Thank you, Speed." Horatio took the words for the intent. "You and Eric be sure to find this perp."  
  
"We will. I need something from you, though. You know that hair that Alexx found stuck in all the . . . um, on the body?"  
  
"Yes. Have you matched it?"  
  
"There is a root, but that DNA isn't in the system. I was thinking, though. It really looks like one of your hairs. About the same color, anyway. You were leaning right over the body in the grave, checking her out, and I wondered if it could be accidental contamination."  
  
"So you want a sample from me to try to match."  
  
"Right." Horatio pulled out a couple of hairs and handed them to him. "Thanks, H."  
  
"Speed?" Speed looked back on his way to the lab. "Keep me posted, okay?"  
  
"Will do." Speed headed for trace to try to match DNA.  
  
Horatio entered the elevator, hoping devoutly that this newest vic was someone he'd never seen in his life. It almost had to be, though. He was really running short of people close to him who hadn't already been killed. "You aren't a jinx," he reminded himself. The elevator doors opened, and he pulled himself together and collected the Hummer. When he arrived at the crime scene 20 minutes later, he was the picture of calm professionalism, as always, and the detective coming across to meet him wondered admiringly if anything could ever ruffle that man.  
  
***  
  
Horatio unlocked his front door and came in, instantly turning on every light switch close at hand to make it a little less lonely. He went into the kitchen to get a drink out of the fridge and saw the answering machine light blinking. He hit the button, and Calleigh's voice filled the room. "Hey, Handsome. It's 9:00, and if you're still working now, you shouldn't be. In one hour, I'll send out a posse to arrest you and drag you out of CSI. I love you. Give me a call when you finally come up for air." Grinning, Horatio checked his watch. 9:35. He called her hotel room.  
  
"Hello, beautiful."  
  
"Hi. Where have you been? Trying to make up a week's work in one night?"  
  
Horatio sat down at the kitchen table, smiling. Even the sound of her voice could erase stress. "Actually, Alexx invited me over for dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs. Then, I was playing with her kids until it was their bedtime. So I'm falsely accused. I wasn't working."  
  
"Falsely accused tonight, maybe." Her voice trailed off a bit, and he knew she was thinking about the children. The one disappointment in their marriage so far was that Calleigh had not gotten pregnant yet.  
  
"We'll have our own someday. It's too soon to get worried, Cal. We haven't even been married a year yet."  
  
"What if we can't have them, though?"  
  
"Then we'll adopt some. How was your day?"  
  
"Thrilling as most conferences I've been to. I'm already nervous about tomorrow, though."  
  
"No reason. Just imagine me sitting out there, instead of all the audience. It'll be just like giving me a report on a case."  
  
She smiled, and he heard it in her tone. "An audience of one. I like it. I do wish you were here."  
  
"So do I." His tone was a little too fervent, and he almost saw the question mark rise out of the phone.  
  
"Horatio? What's the matter?"  
  
"We got a new case today that's pretty disturbing."  
  
So that was why Alexx asked him over, Calleigh thought. She's trying to fill in for me. "What kind of case?"  
  
He hesitated. "Calleigh, I really don't want to talk about it tonight. I just spent all evening working on forgetting about it. I'll tell you tomorrow night, okay?"  
  
Calleigh wished she could see him, meet his eyes, to gauge the situation better. His unfailing strength was not itself a front - he was the most capable man she'd ever known - but he could use it as a front sometimes. It was very hard to measure just how much this case was bothering him from only his voice. Still, he wasn't denying that anything was wrong, just saying he didn't want to talk about it. She would see him tomorrow night, after all. She decided for the moment to accept Alexx's assessment. The ME read people so well that if she had lived a few hundred years ago, she would have been burned at the stake, and her decision apparently had been to distract him. "Okay, but I'll hold you to it. So, do you want to hear about the most boring conference speaker in the history of forensics?"  
  
His velvet laugh reached over the phone line and tickled her ear. "Sure." He settled back into his chair to listen. By the time they finally hung up, he sounded totally like himself, and Calleigh felt a little more reassured. Still, she would be glad to see him tomorrow night.  
  
***  
  
Eric got to CSI early the next morning. He and Speed were going to process Marcella's apartment this morning, and he needed to pick up the field kits. When he entered the lab, though, Horatio was already there, running tests himself. Eric hesitated, looking him up and down and wondering if he'd had any sleep at all. "Hey, H. You're here early."  
  
"Couldn't sleep," said Horatio, "so I thought I'd get a head start on the evidence in that beach case. It looks like an easy one, though." Actually, he had been able to get to sleep; he'd just decided at 2:30 AM that he didn't want to sleep any longer. The whole night to that point had been a repeating three-phase nightmare. The first part was Marcella in the open grave, with her face eaten away by acid. Somehow, though, while he was kneeling by the grave, checking out her body, it suddenly changed to the body of his mother in the kitchen where she had died, and Horatio was kneeling next to her with her blood covering his hands and clothes. The third part of the nightmare, the part that was real, was waking up alone with Calleigh not there. Horatio suddenly realized that Eric was watching him with concern and gave his friend a half-hearted smile. "I'm okay, Eric."  
  
"Right." Eric started collecting a field kit.  
  
"Are you processing her place this morning?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm meeting Speed over there."  
  
"Where did she live?" Eric looked up for a minute, surprised. "No, I don't know. I hadn't seen her or talked to her in eight years." Eric gave him the address, and Horatio considered it. "Pretty good neighborhood. She must have been doing well." His mind jumped back to the image of her body without a face, and he shuddered slightly, then turned back to his tests on the beach case.  
  
"We'll get him, H," said Eric.  
  
"I know. You'd better get over there. Speed will beat you, and you'd never live it down." Eric grinned, and Horatio smiled back at him, but there was still no humor in it. Eric collected what he needed and left, and Horatio turned back to the tests, trying to focus on this victim, this evidence. But his mind kept tracking off again on the other case, and it would always somehow wind up, not at the open grave, but in his mother's kitchen.  
  
***  
  
Speed stood staring at the biggest dilemma of his CSI career. He was in Marcella's bedroom, working at picking up any evidence. She obviously hadn't been killed here - there would have been blood spatter from her heart wound - but the killer might have been here at some point earlier. So Speed went through the standard routines, carefully looking for trace evidence, working it like any other case up until he checked the bed. In the sheets, he had found two hairs. Red hairs. Length, texture, and color were all identical to the ones he had spent yesterday processing, the one from Marcella's body and the matching sample Horatio had given him. Of course, the DNA tests would have to be run, but Speed knew instantly, like a hard blow to the gut, that these two would match the others. But Horatio had told Eric he'd never been here, didn't even know the address. Speed believed him. But if he reported this evidence, it would point straight to Horatio as the prime suspect. And if he didn't report it, he would be compromising every standard Horatio as his mentor had taught him.  
  
"Speedle." He turned around, surprised. Eric hardly ever used his full name. Eric was standing in the door of the bedroom, looking sick.  
  
"What's wrong, man?"  
  
"Come here." Eric led the way back into the study, where he had been processing the desk. In the center of the polished wooden surface were three letters. "I found those in her desk drawer. Read them."  
  
Speed picked up the first one, his eyes immediately leaping to the signature at the bottom. He knew it, had seen it thousands of times on reports and case files. On his own yearly performance evaluations. On the marriage license he and Eric had signed as witnesses. Horatio. His eyes came back up and met Eric's.  
  
"Read it."  
  
Speed read it. The words were almost as acid as the substance that had destroyed Marcella's face. His hands shaking slightly, Speed picked up the other two letters. More of the same. All typewritten, but signed at the bottom. Horatio. Speed felt as sick as Eric looked. "He didn't write these. He's not capable of it."  
  
"I know," said Eric. "But it is his signature. I'd swear it's his signature."  
  
"Someone's setting him up." Speed explained his own discovery of the hairs. "We thought the one yesterday was accidental contamination, but I don't think so now. How could somebody get some of his hair?"  
  
"Break in? Steal it from his comb?" Eric suggested. "But how could somebody get his signature on these letters? If that's forgery, it's first class."  
  
"Maybe they were buried in a stack of other papers, and he was just signing through them."  
  
Eric snorted. "Have you ever in your life seen H sign something without reading it?"  
  
"No." Speed thought it out. "And he'd never sign blank papers and give them to somebody, either." He met his friend's eyes, and they stared at the dilemma together. "We have to report this. We can't hide evidence. Even if it's planted."  
  
"I know. H wouldn't want us to hide it. But who hates him enough to frame him for murder?"  
  
"Can't be an average crook out for revenge. Who would know his ex-wife's name and address?" Speed wondered. "Hell, we didn't even know his ex- wife's name."  
  
"We've got to warn him," said Eric. They both almost ran for the door and nearly crashed into Tripp as he came through.  
  
"Speedle, Delko, found anything yet?" An agonized glance passed between the two CSIs. Tripp saw it, and he wasn't known for his patience. "What is this, a Quaker meeting? Speak up. Have you found anything yet?"  
  
Eric stared at the letters he was holding, at the envelope with the hairs Speed was holding. He thought of Horatio, his friend, his boss, his mentor. Horatio was special in many ways, but perhaps the strongest was his unfailing integrity. The integrity that he demonstrated every day to them on the job. Eric took a deep breath and apologized mentally to his friend. "Yes, we have."  
  
***  
  
Speed and Eric broke the speed limit back to CSI. The elevator was too slow. They galloped up the stairs side by side and burst into the glass- lined beehive with such vigor that everyone working there stared at them. Speed hooked the nearest person. "Tyler, where's Horatio?"  
  
"In the interrogation room. They pulled in a prime suspect on that beach murder. H is breaking him now." Speed and Eric were gone before he even finished the sentence. They stopped at the interrogation room window. Horatio was obviously at a critical point in this one, leaning forward slightly, head tilted, nailing the probable perp with the full laser force of his eyes. For some reason, even with the urgency of their mission, Eric and Speed stood on the other side of the one-way glass and watched him for a minute. The brilliance, the dedication, the passion for justice. There was no possible way Horatio had written those letters. If the evidence said he did, it was wrong. Speed lifted his hand to knock on the door, and at that moment, the perp inside the room broke wide open, like they had seen so many others. Horatio leaned forward, nailing in the coffin lid, and the detective came around the table with the handcuffs. The trio came out of the room, Horatio walking behind, watching the murderer with sad satisfaction. Justice was done, but he still regretted that it had been needed in the first place.  
  
"H, we've got to talk to you." The urgency in Eric's voice stopped him in his tracks.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"We found . . . " They had waited too long watching the interrogation. Even as Speed started his explanation, he saw Horatio's head lift suddenly, looking over his shoulder. He turned to see the captain, Tripp, and another man he didn't know heading down the hall.  
  
"Lieutenant Caine, we need to talk to you." The captain's voice was regretful but firm. Behind him, Tripp looked at the floor, not meeting his eyes. What the hell, Horatio thought. Tripp not wanting to meet his eyes? The captain glanced at Eric and Speed, and at the curious coworkers who were starting to pay attention around them. "You might prefer it to be private."  
  
"These are my friends," said Horatio. "Whatever it is, we can talk in front of them."  
  
The captain sighed. "Your call. It's about your ex-wife's murder. You hadn't seen her in eight years?"  
  
"Right. Or talked to her." Horatio's tone was puzzled.  
  
"This morning, two of your CSIs found these letters in her apartment. Also some hairs in her bed which they are confident will match one already found on the body. Your hairs." The captain held out the letters. Horatio read them slowly. More CSIs were gathering around the fringes now. They were waiting for Horatio to put it all together, to explain everything, including proving his innocence. It didn't happen. The blue eyes were utterly stunned. He looked like he had been knocked unconscious but his body had forgotten to fall.  
  
The captain reached out and took the letters back from Horatio's slack fingers. His voice was still regretful. He hated this himself. "Can you explain these letters?"  
  
Horatio's tongue unfroze. "I didn't . . . I could never write that."  
  
"It is your signature, though."  
  
"Yes, it is." None of them had ever seen him look bewildered before. That was almost more frightening than the thought of someone framing him.  
  
"Someone's setting him up," Speed insisted.  
  
"The murder apparently happened on April 4th. Can you account for your movements that day?"  
  
A slight spark of life woke in the eyes. "I was with Calleigh. All week. We were on vacation, and we never even left the house all week. I've got an alibi for every second of April 4th."  
  
"You never even went out for errands?"  
  
"We never even opened the door. We were together 24/7. All week." Horatio knew it sounded odd, saw the thought in the captain's eyes. If he was working this case himself, he'd call that too good of an alibi, a preplanned alibi.  
  
"Where is Mrs. Caine?"  
  
"She's at a conference upstate. She'll be back tonight."  
  
The captain sighed. "Look, in view of your exemplary record for more than 20 years, we're willing to consider the possibility that you are being set up for this crime."  
  
"The possibility?" Speed sputtered.  
  
"But," the captain's voice overrode the trace expert's, "we cannot ignore this evidence."  
  
"Of course not," said Horatio.  
  
"We will talk to your wife about the alibi. But at the moment, I'm afraid we have no choice. Lieutenant Caine, you are hereby suspended without pay until further notice while this investigation continues. And you are not to leave the city of Miami." The captain indicated the third man, the unknown one. "This is Lieutenant Wilson. He is temporarily in charge of CSI."  
  
Wilson stepped forward cockily, looking around. A crowd of more than 20 people had formed around them now, all staring in shocked horror. Mount Rushmore was crumbling. "All of you, get back to work. Now! You have jobs to do, and I intend to see that you do them."  
  
"Go to hell," said Eric fiercely, stepping forward.  
  
"Eric." Horatio's voice froze Eric in his tracks. There was an icing of affection and gratitude spread over the top of the admonition, but it was still an admonition. Eric reluctantly backed down.  
  
"One more thing," said the captain. "Since you are suspended, we will need you to surrender the keys to city-owned vehicles and your weapon. And I am sorry, Horatio."  
  
Moving in slow motion, Horatio pulled out his key ring and removed the keys to his Hummer. He handed them to the captain. "The gun is mine," he said softly. "It was a wedding gift." He met the captain's eyes for a minute. His weren't accusing, but the captain looked down first. Horatio turned away.  
  
"Horatio." For the first time, he spotted Alexx in the crowd of onlookers. She had pulled out her own car keys, and now she held them out to him. Without a word, he took them from her and slowly headed for the elevator. No one said anything and no one moved until the doors had slid shut behind him.  
  
"Get back to work!" Wilson insisted. "I'll go check out my office." Eric fought the fury down and headed for his own workstation. Slowly, the crowd dispersed as they all resumed work, not because of Wilson's orders but out of respect for Horatio and what they knew he would want them to do. At least, their bodies resumed work. Their minds had all accompanied that tall lonely figure, entering the elevator without a backward glance and only flinching slightly as the doors snapped closed behind him, shutting him off from CSI. 


	3. Framed 3

"You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those."  
  
William Shakespeare, King Richard the Second  
  
***  
  
Calleigh was worried. She had been uneasy in the first place about leaving Horatio so close to the first week in April. She had been even more uneasy after that ambiguous conversation last night. But that was nothing to the icy fist of certainty that punched her in the stomach halfway through the presentation following her own at the conference. She'd been sitting there only half paying attention, slowly unwinding after her own part, when the feeling hit her like a physical blow. Something was wrong. Badly, acutely wrong, much more wrong than it had been last night. Calleigh wasn't superstitious. Like she'd told Horatio once, she loved ballistics because it was an exact science. The answer was either yes or no, and the evidence could be weighed. But she had never in her life felt anything like this before. There was no evidence, no explanation, and absolutely no doubt. She quietly gathered her papers and slipped out of the auditorium. Once back in her hotel room, it only took her ten minutes to throw her stuff into her suitcase, check out, and retrieve her car from the garage. So she found herself on the interstate heading south hours ahead of schedule, wondering what to say to everyone if she was wrong. She would look pretty foolish, and Speed and Eric would tease her about woman's intuition. She didn't care. She would be happy to look foolish as long as Horatio was alright. She checked her watch again. She was making good time. About three more hours, and she would see him.  
  
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled as she snapped it open. "Hi, Handsome."  
  
"Your presentation is over by now, isn't it?" No greeting of any kind, and his voice was devoid of emotion, which with him was a sign of how much was seething under the surface.  
  
"Horatio, what's wrong?" Her stomach tightened as her unexplained fears prepared to change into explained ones.  
  
"Is your presentation over?" he repeated, and there was the slightest edge of desperation under his tone.  
  
"Yes. I'm all done. What's happened?"  
  
He let out a shuddering sigh. "Could you come back early, then, please?"  
  
"Actually, I'm already on the way. I left early. I'll be at CSI in about three hours."  
  
"No, come home. I'm at home."  
  
"In the middle of the day? Horatio, what's wrong?" Worry made her tone sharper than usual with him.  
  
His voice was still totally flat. "I've been suspended. And it's probably only a matter of time before I'm arrested for murder."  
  
Calleigh pushed the pedal down harder. "Make it two and a half hours."  
  
"Don't you want to know who I murdered?"  
  
"No, because you didn't murder anybody."  
  
For the first time, the frozen shell around his voice thawed a bit. "Thanks, Calleigh."  
  
"Hang in there. I'm coming."  
  
"Okay." He ended the call, like he had begun it, without any of the formalities, just putting the phone down.  
  
Calleigh accelerated still more. To hell with the speed limit. Her mind was traveling even faster, though. Murder? How on earth could anyone accuse Horatio of murder? He had more respect for life than anybody else she'd ever known. About ten miles further down the road, her cell phone rang again. It was Alexx.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh made it in two hours fifteen minutes. She pulled her car into the driveway next to Alexx's and ran up the sidewalk to the door, lunging for the doorknob like a sprinter leaning toward the finish line. She burst into the living room. Horatio was sitting on the couch with his Rubic's cube, worked into a neat starburst pattern, in his hands, but his eyes weren't focused on anything. He looked up as she came in and got to his feet like he wasn't sure his legs would support him. Three running steps across the living room, and she was there, wrapping her arms and her soul around him. He buried his face in the top of her hair. "I'm here," she repeated softly. "I'm here now. It'll be okay."  
  
After several minutes, he straightened up slightly, looking at her. "Calleigh, my ex-wife . . ."  
  
"I know," she said. "I know everything. Alexx called me right after you did." Part of her wanted to throttle him for not calling her sooner, but she could tell he was in shock right now, and a harsh word from her at the moment would shatter him. Alexx had also told her why he hadn't called. So like Horatio, always ranking himself below responsibilities to others. At least he had called her, as soon as he thought he could. At some more appropriate time, though, she'd pin his ears back for him.  
  
She pushed him back down onto the couch, settling herself next to him, still holding him. Her heart wept looking at his face. In the 48 hours since she'd seen him, he looked like he had aged ten years and lost ten pounds. Worst were the eyes, though. They looked totally stunned, unable to get a grip on what was happening. How had things collapsed so quickly in just two days?  
  
"How could anybody think I could kill her?"  
  
"It's a frame up, Horatio. Whoever did this has a head start, but we'll find him. And even with the planted evidence, you'll be okay. You've got an alibi, remember?"  
  
He smiled faintly. "Right. You never left me."  
  
She squeezed him tighter. "Perfect alibi. I don't think we were more than 15 feet from each other all week. I talked to Alexx, and the team wants to come over here after work, soon as they can get away. We'll form a battle plan then. We're going to beat this, Horatio."  
  
"Alexx needs to get her car, anyway." His dazed eyes were worried suddenly. "If they help me, it might make trouble at work, though. They still have jobs. I don't want to create problems for them."  
  
Calleigh pulled him tighter against her. "Shut up, Horatio. You're worth more than 50 jobs, and all of us think so." He leaned into her willingly. No longer alone. The last two days had seemed like eternity without her. Calleigh held him for a long time, long enough to feel the tension in every line of him, to thoroughly study his chiseled face. "Horatio, did you get any sleep last night?"  
  
"Some," he stalled. He met her accusing eyes and continued. "It wasn't worth getting, though. I gave up about 2:30 and went to CSI."  
  
"Were you dreaming about Marcella?" Alexx had told her how closely he'd worked with the body before he recognized her.  
  
"Yes," he said, but it was only part of an answer.  
  
"What else?" she insisted.  
  
He sighed. "It keeps tangling up with my mother. I'll start out working Marcella's case, at the open grave, but I'll wind up back in that kitchen."  
  
Present tense. A chill ran over her. He wasn't just talking about nightmares. "You mean you're still seeing it? Even when you're awake? Like last week?"  
  
"Off and on. Not like last week, where it's constant. But sometimes."  
  
She squeezed him tighter, suddenly worried about more than the frame up. To go straight from last week's ordeal to finding yet another faceless body of someone close to him. And he'd had to go through it alone. No one else on the team knew about last week. No one else would understand the similarity. Not even Alexx. "You should have called me."  
  
He closed his eyes, leaning against her. "I wanted to. But you had a responsibility."  
  
She shook him slightly. "I've got a bigger responsibility to you."  
  
He hesitated for a moment. "You're right, Cal. I'm sorry."  
  
She couldn't stay annoyed at him. She kissed him gently, but her heart felt like ice in her chest. All of the progress they'd made last week was threatened now, and that thought scared her even more than the thought of someone trying to frame him for murder. She had no doubt that they'd get the true murderer. The battle against his demons would be harder.  
  
He opened his eyes suddenly, looking at her. They were still stunned but haunted behind the numbness. "I feel like I'm letting Marcella down."  
  
"What do you mean?" She was puzzled but encouraged that he would volunteer something of what he was feeling.  
  
"I can't even stay focused on her very long. Not even when I'm awake, thinking about it. It keeps turning back into my mother. She deserves someone grieving for her."  
  
Calleigh kissed him again. "Horatio, that makes perfect sense. You told me yourself Marcella was just a friend, that it wasn't love. Your mother loved you. That was the much stronger relationship. Once you tied the two of them together, it would always lead back to your mother."  
  
"I didn't even recognize her," he said. "Half the day yesterday, I worked that case and never noticed. Just felt like something was familiar. Even if it wasn't love, she deserved to be recognized." And thinking about it, just like he had said, his mind immediately jumped from that case to the death of his mother. Calleigh saw it clearly in his eyes. He shuddered slightly. "I recognized Mom right away."  
  
Calleigh shook him gently, bringing his focus back to her. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Horatio. What she deserves, like any victim, is justice. And we'll get it for her. And you." Once again, she felt a stab of anger against Marcella, who had told Horatio that he wasn't worth staying for. Horatio, who now worried that he wasn't doing her justice. She hadn't deserved him.  
  
He read her thoughts in her eyes, just like she had read his. "She wasn't a bad person, Cal."  
  
"She didn't deserve you." She squeezed him more tightly. "I'm still not sure I deserve you sometimes, but I know she didn't."  
  
After that, they both fell silent. Horatio was still leaning against her, drawing strength from her, reassuring himself that he wasn't alone anymore. Calleigh held him tightly, wondering how on earth he had survived for years with no one to really talk to. His body gradually relaxed somewhat against her. She tried to coax him into sleep, but there wasn't any sleep in him, in spite of the tiredness. His mind was still trying, and failing, to grasp all that had happened.  
  
"How did your presentation go?" he said suddenly.  
  
She'd forgotten about it. "It was fine. I just thought of you, like you said. It worked."  
  
"Wish I could have heard you."  
  
"You will. Next conference, maybe. We'll both get invited to one at some point."  
  
"If I've still got a job," he said. The lack of emotion in the voice scared her more than total despair would have.  
  
"We'll beat this, Horatio," she insisted. She stroked his hair, pulling his head over against her shoulder. He actually felt cold to the touch, like he was literally, as well as mentally, frozen. "Horatio, go put on your sweat suit," she said. It was warmer.  
  
"What?" His eyes had been staring off into the distance again, and she wasn't sure he had heard her.  
  
"Come on. Let's both go change clothes." She was still wearing the suit she'd had on for the conference presentation. With uncharacteristic passivity, he obediently followed her to the bedroom and put on the warm sweats she offered him. Then they curled up together on the couch again. She tried again to lull him to sleep, but it just wasn't working.  
  
After an hour or so, she got up to make coffee and sandwiches. The rest of the team would be here soon. Horatio followed her into the kitchen, not even wanting to be separated by a room. She finished fixing plates and sat down at the table next to him, studying him. Her presence was helping. He looked better than he had when she had arrived. Less haunted, but still stunned. They had to start planning strategy, though. Time was crucial. Whoever was setting up Horatio, it was time to turn the tables and hunt him. She heard the cars arrive outside and stood up to go to the door, and Horatio slowly got up and followed her.  
  
***  
  
The team eventually settled around the living room, Alexx on the piano bench, Eric and Speed in the recliners, Horatio and Calleigh close together on the couch. Horatio still seemed like a hollow shell of himself. He was contributing to the discussion, but he wasn't taking charge, and the others kept giving him worried looks. They bounced the case points around between themselves, though, trying to piece it together, taking over for him until he snapped back to life.  
  
"Where could he get some of your hair?" Speed wondered out loud. "He could have broken in here and stolen it from your comb. Have you noticed anything out of place?"  
  
"No," said Calleigh. "Horatio?" He would have been more likely to notice something than she would.  
  
"No," he said. "If he only wanted that, though, he'd be careful."  
  
"Right," said Eric. "Not a common crook." He got up and went over to their front door, opening it, studying the lock. "Not an easy one to pick. Do you ever leave it unlocked? When you go jogging or something?"  
  
"Only when we go down to the beach," said Calleigh. They all looked toward the back glass door that looked out on darkness now, toward their private stretch of beach.  
  
"If he was watching you, looking for an opportunity, that could be it."  
  
"How would he know?" said Horatio suddenly.  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"That we leave it unlocked when we go to the beach."  
  
"Right," said Speed. "Too risky to try to break in with you that close unless he knew what to expect. There could be a source of inside information somewhere. Look, H, whoever this guy is, he's got one hell of a grudge against you. Someone you put away, maybe? Relative of someone you put away?"  
  
"That ought to narrow it down," Eric muttered.  
  
Speed plowed on over him. "Someone with enough of a grudge to be patient on it and work out information sources. You ought to start locking the door when you go down to the beach, though."  
  
"Did you go down to the beach last week?" asked Eric. "You'd been on vacation for a day or two before the 4th. Maybe he got it then. No, wait, H said this morning you never even opened the door all week." It still sounded weird to him, even knowing how crazy those two were about each other.  
  
Calleigh tightened her hand on Horatio's arm. "Actually, Horatio, that's not quite right. We did open it once."  
  
"When?" He sounded puzzled.  
  
"Monday night, to let in the caterers."  
  
"Right," he said. "The anniversary dinner. I wasn't thinking about that this morning."  
  
"Anniversary dinner?" Now Eric was the one puzzled. "Isn't your anniversary in September?"  
  
Horatio tightened up instantly, retreating even further into his shell, and Calleigh, mentally kicking herself for bringing it up at all, quickly lied so that he wouldn't have to. "We decided to celebrate it early," she said glibly, her eyes challenging anybody else in the room to disbelieve her or to take that subject further. No one took up the challenge. A stiff silence settled over the room for a minute.  
  
"So, the letters," said Eric. He could never stand stiff silences. "That's got to be forgery, but it's first class."  
  
"I've got a friend from college who married a graphologist," Calleigh suddenly remembered. "I'll get copies of the letters, and we can go see him tomorrow. That's the easiest part of this case to break, since we know Horatio didn't sign them. The hair will be harder. If we can prove the letters are fakes, that plus the alibi will really make Tripp have to look elsewhere."  
  
"The alibi is that good?" Alexx was still watching Horatio with concern. She wanted reassurance for him as well as herself.  
  
"Cast iron," said Calleigh. "I'm telling you, we weren't more than 15 feet from each other all week. Sunday night to Sunday afternoon, we never left the house." It was a sign of the seriousness of the situation that neither Eric nor Speed tried to make a joke out of her statement.  
  
"Good thing," said Speed. "Since you were on vacation that week, it should've been harder to account for your time than at CSI. Wonder if he knew you were on vacation. Just good luck that you never happened to be alone."  
  
Horatio's head snapped up suddenly with the most animation he'd shown all night. Calleigh reacted a split second later, and they turned to lock eyes. The communication waves were almost visible. "An inside source. . ." he said finally. "She was the inside source herself. The timing can't be coincidence."  
  
"Even down to assuming you'd be alone. That's got to be it," said Calleigh.  
  
"What?" Eric looked from one to the other of them. "You guys lost me there."  
  
Horatio turned back to face him. The light in his eyes was a candle, not a laser, but it was at least something. "We're looking for someone who had a relationship with Marcella. A close relationship, extending over months. Not just a casual acquaintance. He would have to have earned her trust slowly, and she wasn't gullible. We need to check her contacts. That's where we'll find him."  
  
"Horatio," said Calleigh gently, "is there any other possible source of information?"  
  
"No," he said flatly.  
  
She accepted it. "Okay, tomorrow, we need to start tracking her contacts. And I want to take the letters to my friend's husband." She glanced at Horatio. The momentary flicker of light in his eyes was already fading as the implications took hold. This was even more personal than he had thought it was. "One more thing, Horatio. I don't think you need to be alone at any point until this case is closed." He started to challenge her half-heartedly, and she cut him off. "We don't know if he's planned something else. Your alibi for last week was unexpected. He may have other things he's going to set you up for now that you're suspended. We don't need to give him an opportunity." Besides, it would give her an excellent excuse, one the team wouldn't question, for sticking to him like glue. "So tomorrow, I'll get some time off myself."  
  
Speed snorted. "Good luck. Wilson is the biggest jackass I've ever seen."  
  
"Who's Wilson?" Calleigh wasn't up-to-date on that part.  
  
"The jerk supposedly in charge of CSI temporarily. I looked him up in the database today," said Eric. "He's new to Miami, but he's worked in a crime lab before. Much smaller city. He's one of those people who has to shove his rank in your face. Won't trust people to do their jobs. He'll go crazy in three days at CSI, trying to supervise every detail."  
  
"Unless he drives us crazy first," said Speed.  
  
"He even came down this afternoon to give me some tips on performing autopsies," said Alexx. Everyone but Horatio grinned at that. He seemed to be lost in space again.  
  
"You just took vacation," said Eric. "What if he won't give you time off?"  
  
"I'll quit," Calleigh replied instantly.  
  
Horatio came to life a bit. "You can't quit, Cal."  
  
"Why not? Wilson's only temporary, and as soon as you're back, you can rehire me." Horatio started to protest, and the phone in the kitchen rang at that minute. He got up from the couch and went into the next room to answer it.  
  
Speed instantly leaned forward in his chair and dropped his voice into a whisper. "So what was that about last week and timing, Calleigh?"  
  
Calleigh quickly looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen door. She could hear Horatio's voice but not make out the words. As stunned as he was at the moment, he probably couldn't overhear their conversation. She turned back to find all three of her colleagues leaning forward eagerly. "I can't tell you," she said. "I'm sorry, guys, but telling you isn't my decision to make." Alexx looked even more concerned than she had, but Speed and Eric had the same thought simultaneously, and Calleigh saw it race across their faces. "And don't you dare ask him about it. Please, everyone, don't push him on this. He's already got enough to worry about right now, and you could make it a lot worse." He was already having flashbacks again; she was terrified that he would be knocked back into last week's ordeal. Speed and Eric looked puzzled at the urgency in her voice. "Please," she repeated. "Trust me on this. Leave it alone." They all looked puzzled. "Promise me," she insisted.  
  
"All right," said Alexx, with the other two chiming in as a delayed echo.  
  
After that, there didn't seem to be anything else to say. They could still hear Horatio in the kitchen. Eric looked around the room, studying the pictures on the wall. Speed suddenly noticed the Rubic's cube sitting on the coffee table. He leaned forward and picked it up. "I used to know a guy in college who had one of these. He could work it in five minutes." His voice trailed off as he realized suddenly that the cube wasn't just randomly scrambled but worked into an intricate starburst pattern. "How the hell?" He shifted several rows on it, then gave up and put it back on the table, joining Eric in looking at pictures. Alexx sat there looking at Calleigh with a concerned sympathy that made Calleigh want to break down and tell her everything, but she couldn't. The less Horatio had to face from that week at the moment, the better. Talking about it wouldn't help, not even with friends. Only catching the real perp would make a difference. She was starting to realize how carefully this man had planned every detail, and it scared the hell out of her. Horatio wasn't safe until he was behind bars.  
  
Horatio came back into the living room and sat down again next to Calleigh. She touched his arm lightly, reassuring him that she was still there. "That was Tripp," he said. "He wants to talk to me tomorrow morning. Down at headquarters. 10:00." He suddenly noticed that the cube had been knocked out of order and frowned slightly. Picking it up, he reversed Speed's moves in about ten seconds and put it back on the table, once again a perfect starburst. Speed's jaw literally fell open, as did Eric's across the room. Horatio didn't notice. "You might not have much time left in this week to worry about giving me an alibi for, Calleigh."  
  
"He's not going to arrest you," she reassured him. "I'll go with you. He'll want to ask me about last week, anyway. But if he was going to arrest you, he wouldn't tell you twelve hours ahead of time."  
  
Horatio glanced at his watch automatically as she referred to the time. "Speed?"  
  
Speed slowly picked his jaw up off the floor. "Yeah, H?"  
  
"Didn't you have a date tonight?"  
  
Speed came straight up out of his chair. "Oh, hell! I totally forgot about it." He quickly pulled out his cell phone and went into the kitchen for privacy. He came back a minute later. "She's not answering. I left her a message."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Horatio.  
  
"Hey, it's not your fault. I should've remembered to call her." He regretted not calling her, but he didn't wish he'd gone on the date instead. Horatio gave him a faint grin.  
  
"Thanks for coming over here tonight, all of you. Speed, you'd better get going, though. She may still be at your apartment."  
  
"Right. See you tomorrow, um, at some point." Foot in mouth again, he thought as he headed out and started his bike. He had nearly told H he'd see him at work. How many times could he be a stupid idiot in one night?  
  
Back in the house, Alexx stood up. "We'd all better get going. You two need to get some rest tonight if you want to be ready to fight this thing tomorrow." She came across to the couch, pulled Horatio to his feet, and wrapped him in the strongest, warmest hug she could give. He was surprised, but he responded after a few seconds. "Everything will work out, Horatio," she promised him. She hugged Calleigh in turn, then took the car keys Horatio offered her and left.  
  
Eric hesitated for a second, then stood up himself. "Night, Cal. Night, H."  
  
"Make me copies of those letters in the morning, Eric," Calleigh requested. "I'll pick them up when I come in to quit."  
  
"You got it."  
  
Calleigh and Horatio sat on the couch in silence for a few minutes. She put her arm around him, and he leaned against her. The inertia of tiredness was kicking in, but he was still tense. "She could never have imagined that I wouldn't be alone on April 4th," he said finally. "He used her, for information about me, then killed her." He shuddered slightly. "So she died because she knew me."  
  
"Stop it," said Calleigh firmly. "It may be something else entirely. Are you sure no one else ever knew about last week? Ray? Yelina? They could have told someone."  
  
"They never knew. Ray didn't even know how Mom died."  
  
"What?" Calleigh straightened up in surprise. "I always assumed . . ." Her voice trailed off.  
  
"He thinks she was shot. I didn't tell him that; he just assumed it. But I didn't let him go in the house. He never saw her, and I never told him. He couldn't have handled it."  
  
Calleigh squeezed him tighter, stunned again by his selflessness. The one person who could have most identified with him, and Horatio deliberately took the full knowledge alone.  
  
"Al knew that I couldn't remember what she looked like. But no one except Marcella ever knew about that week every year. Until you."  
  
"I worked it out. Someone else could have."  
  
"No, it was her." He was sure of it. The trouble was, so was Calleigh. "She joked the night she was leaving, that she was escaping the influence of my jinx. I guess she didn't after all. It just took eight years to catch her."  
  
Calleigh shook him slightly. "Horatio, you are not a jinx. Remember what your mother told you? You're probably heading for 4300 by now."  
  
He nodded slightly. "Right, I'm not a jinx." She let out a half sigh of relief. "Maybe I'm a catalyst, though."  
  
"Stop it," she said again. "Marcella might have known this perp anyway, and he wanted her out of the way. Maybe framing you was a bonus, not the only reason he wanted to know her."  
  
He considered that, thinking of Marcella. "Who would want to kill her, though? She was harmless." And thinking about her dead, his mind immediately jumped tracks again and wound up at the mental image of his mother. Calleigh squeezed him again, then stood up.  
  
"I'm just getting us a refill," she said, picking up their coffee cups. He settled back against the couch, the exhaustion making it too much effort to get up. His mind was still trying to work it out, though, even if his body was numb.  
  
Harmless, Calleigh thought to herself as she refilled their coffee cups. She'd told him alive that he wasn't worth anything, probably unknowingly provided information to someone else on how to hurt him, and was haunting him now that she was dead. Marcella, Calleigh thought, you'd better hope that we wind up in different destinations in the hereafter. Otherwise, woman, you'll pay for this.  
  
She rejoined Horatio on the couch and handed him his cup, hoping that the warm liquid might thaw his spirit a bit. He drank it, but he still seemed numb. "I'm glad you're back," he said suddenly. "I did want to tell you. Are you mad at me?"  
  
How could anyone be mad at him at the moment? She slipped her arm around his shoulders again, pulling him against her. "No. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I promise you, I will be mad. Understood?"  
  
He grinned halfheartedly. "Loud and clear." They finished their coffee, and Calleigh put the cups on the table, next to the cube.  
  
"Did you see Speed's face, when you worked the cube?"  
  
"No. What about it?"  
  
She rubbed his hair affectionately. Horatio honestly didn't realize how special he was. "We're going to beat this, Horatio."  
  
"Who could have hated her that much? Who could hate me that much? I don't know where to start." He sounded totally lost, nothing like his usual self.  
  
"We'll start tomorrow. We'll talk to Tripp in the morning, and then we'll take those letters to get analyzed." She pulled him tighter against her, rubbing his shoulders gently. It took longer than she had expected, but finally she felt the knots of tension begin to dissolve. She got to her feet. "Come on, Horatio. Bedtime." She pulled him up, then steadied him as his feet went in different directions. She could see the gears turning behind the growing haziness in his blue eyes.  
  
"You put something in that coffee."  
  
"You're right," she said. "I refuse to sit here and watch you run on a mental hamster wheel all night. You need some rest before tomorrow."  
  
"Cal . . ." The protest trailed off. She put his arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Come on, Horatio. We've got to get to the bedroom, unless you want to spend all night on the floor. Help me out here."  
  
Their path down the hall was as crazy as some she'd walked with her father, but somehow they managed it, Calleigh with both arms around his chest, supporting him, and Horatio helping her as much as he could. They were almost to the bed when he totally collapsed, falling halfway across it. Calleigh pulled his feet up onto the bed, straightened him out, and undressed him, then got undressed herself and climbed in beside him. She pulled a warm blanket up over both of them, but it didn't thaw the chunk of ice in her chest. Horatio was still in shock tonight, and he hadn't followed the chain of conclusions all the way yet, but she had. If the timing of Marcella's murder was intentional, then the method was also intentional. Marcella's face had been totally destroyed specifically to remind Horatio of Rosalind, and the murderer had gone so far, even shaving her hair, in hopes that Horatio would work the case closely for a while before she was identified. Whoever they were after, he was deliberately playing with Horatio's mind, not only framing him for murder but trying to shatter his mental stability at the precise point where it was most fragile. Calleigh looked at Horatio's face again and tried to smooth out some of the lines of stress with her hand. They were still there. She kissed him gently, then switched out the light, but she stayed awake for a long time, nestled tightly against him, a watchful sentinel, and her voice was a fervent whispered plea into the darkness. "God help us." 


	4. Framed 4

Here's part 4. See chapter 1 for disclaimers, unconditional guarantee of happy ending, etc. Sorry for any typos, written down in a hurry half at 1:00 AM when I couldn't sleep for coughing, half in a rush to finish just in the last hour. I'm off to work the rest of the day. Thanks for the feedback.  
  
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Pam, a graphologist with whom I shared a seat on a Greyhound bus ride from Minnesota to Missouri just before Thanksgiving five years ago. I don't know her last name and have never seen her before or since, but she provided the most interesting trip conversation I've ever had with a stranger. Once she figured out she wasn't boring me, she spent the rest of the trip talking about how much handwriting can reveal, and she did an analysis on my own signature that blew me away. She also did have a photocopy of Hitler's signature in a graphology textbook she had with her, and she showed it to me without first telling me whose signature it was (and it is illegible, so you wouldn't know). It is totally chilling. So thanks, Pam, for a 6 hour pocket course in graphology. Any errors in application here accrue to me, not to her.  
  
***  
  
"Tell him to go to hell."  
  
General Zachary Taylor's reply to Santa Anna's demand for surrender, Buena Vista, New Mexico, February 23, 1847  
  
***  
  
Calleigh pulled into the police compound parking garage the next morning and carefully parked in full view of a security camera. She turned to Horatio. He was sitting in the passenger's seat, looking out at the cars or at least seeming to. He was so quiet this morning that she almost wondered if the drug had fully worn off yet. Surely it should be out of his system by now, though. She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, Handsome." He turned to look at her. His eyes were perfectly clear, the drug-induced haziness from the night before gone, but there still wasn't any spark in them. "You're awfully quiet."  
  
"Just thinking," he said.  
  
"Think productively, okay? I'm going up to CSI to pick up the letters and get some time off. I'll be back in a few minutes, and we'll go see Tripp together. Meanwhile, you stay right here. We're parked right in front of a security camera, and that's your alibi at the moment." Taking Horatio with her up to CSI would only make things more awkward both for him and everyone there.  
  
"Okay," he said.  
  
She suddenly leaned across and kissed him deeply, prolonging it until she felt some faint response from him, providing some on-the-job entertainment for the security staff. She finally broke away and smiled at him with all the wattage she could put behind it. "Back in a few minutes." She sighed again as she crossed the garage to the elevator up to CSI. She wished she could give Horatio an IV infusion of hope somehow. He looked a lot better for getting some rest last night, but he still didn't seem anything like himself. He wasn't even annoyed at her for drugging him. She'd expected a mild disagreement on that subject this morning, but he hadn't mentioned it once. Thinking about it more, though, she realized the reason. She was his lifeline at the moment. He couldn't acknowledge anything that would put a barrier between them. Distance there would be unthinkable, with everything else falling apart around him. She hoped she wouldn't have to do it again tonight, though. Drugging him any more often than once a year would get too difficult.  
  
She came sailing into CSI briskly and headed straight for the main lab, where she found Eric. "Copies of the letters," he said, handing her an envelope. "Hope H gets back soon. I've now officially tampered with evidence."  
  
"Making copies of it isn't tampering with it. It's not like we're removing the originals."  
  
Speed was on the other side of the layout table, cell phone to his ear. "Look, Breeze, it's me again. I'm sorry about last night. An emergency came up, but I should've remembered to call you anyway. Give me a call when you get this." He snapped the cell phone closed with a forlorn click.  
  
"She's still not answering?" asked Calleigh.  
  
"Nope. I've left five messages. How much do I have to grovel?"  
  
Calleigh smiled sympathetically. "Her call, not mine. There aren't national feminine groveling standards to rank it by."  
  
"And H was the only one who remembered it," said Eric. "How's he doing, Calleigh? Where is he, anyway?"  
  
"He's down in the garage parked in front of a security camera. I thought it would just make things awkward to bring him up here."  
  
"How is he?" Speed persisted.  
  
She sighed. "He's still trying to get a grip on all this. It will help when we get some real evidence. Get a trail to put him on. He'll wake up then." I hope.  
  
"We're finishing processing Marcella's apartment today," said Eric. "Really processing it, I mean. There's got to be real evidence there along with the planted stuff."  
  
"I want to go over that plastic sheeting, too," said Speed. "There were several feet of it wrapped around the body. He was wearing gloves when he did that, but I'm going to fume it, try to develop latents anywhere on it. I think he might have handled it earlier. Have you ever tried to remove plastic sheeting from the packaging wearing gloves?"  
  
She watched Speed fondly as he tried to work it out. He was a Labrador Retriever puppy, while Horatio was a panther, but for all that he lacked Horatio's lithe confidence and grace, he could remind her of Horatio at times. They both cared with every fiber of their beings, and Speed pursued justice through the trace lab with as much diligence as Horatio pursued it through the totality of the case.  
  
"What's going on here? It isn't break time." Ah, that must be Wilson. Calleigh turned to face him.  
  
"Just getting things together to go finish the apartment, sir," said Speed, managing to make the title sound like an insult instead of a term of respect.  
  
"Don't forget your field kits." Eric and Speed shared a martyred look but said nothing. "You must be Calleigh. The ballistics lab is behind, so you need to get right over there and get to work."  
  
"Actually, Mr. Wilson," (she refused to call him Lieutenant and rank this man equal with Horatio) "I came in to talk to you about getting some more time off. I'm going to help my husband confront the manufactured charges against him the next few days, so I'd like to take some personal time. I realize it won't be paid."  
  
"Sorry, we just can't spare you," he said.  
  
"Then I quit."  
  
"You can't do that either. By contract, you're required to give two weeks notice."  
  
She stared at him. Technically, yes, but Horatio had never held people to it. When someone's heart has left anyway, their body might as well be allowed to follow. She grasped at the only remaining option. "Then suspend me, too."  
  
He assumed the posture of a parent instructing a toddler. "Mrs. Caine, I can't just suspend you. That is a disciplinary action that must be earned. You have to do something first. Like your husband did."  
  
In the next instant, her fist struck him square on the jaw, and he staggered a few steps and would have fallen over if he hadn't caught the layout table. He stared at her in disbelief. One hand came up to massage the area as he worked his jaw, making sure all teeth were still attached. For the first time since coming to CSI, Wilson was speechless.  
  
Calleigh took a few steps toward him, closing the distance again. "How many times do you have to assault a superior officer to get suspended? Is once enough, or does it take twice?" She clenched her fist meaningfully.  
  
She saw the grudging flicker of respect in his eyes. "Mrs. Caine, you are suspended without pay until further notice."  
  
"Thank you," she said. Shielded by Eric's body, Speed give her a thumbs up sign. She turned away and marched out of the lab, head held high. Mentally, she was thinking of adjectives to describe Wilson, and she hadn't run out by the time she reached the garage.  
  
She opened the passenger's door of her car. "Come on, Horatio. Let's go see Tripp. I got the letters."  
  
"Did you have to quit?" he asked.  
  
"No, Wilson wouldn't let me quit. So now I'm suspended."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"I assaulted him."  
  
Horatio stared at her for a moment, then slowly, like dawn breaking, started to smile. "Calleigh, you're too much. So now we're in the same boat. Maybe we'll wind up sharing a prison cell together. Do you suppose that's taking partnership too far?" He was shaking his head, laughing, as he got out of the car.  
  
She was delighted. That was the most spark he'd shown since her return, and it was certainly the first time he'd been able to joke about it. She would happily assault everyone who crossed her path today if it would bring him back to life. "There's a big difference, Horatio. I'm guilty. So we probably won't wind up sharing a cell."  
  
"Okay, I'll come visit you," he promised. She linked her arm through his and headed for the police headquarters feeling almost lighthearted.  
  
***  
  
Tripp was feeling uncomfortable and hating it. He wasn't used to being uncomfortable. He had to do his job, but he was thoroughly convinced himself now that Horatio was being framed. It was Horatio's reaction yesterday at CSI when confronted that had finished convincing him. A guilty man would have had a defense planned, would have had some explanation, but Horatio had been completely caught off balance by the evidence, and if he had faked that, he deserved an Oscar for his acting ability.  
  
They sat around the table, and somehow, it felt more like a case discussion than an interrogation. Tripp's manner was as gruff as ever, but his eyes communicated his true feelings better than he realized, and both Horatio and Calleigh worked out his position within the first five minutes.  
  
"We have copies of the letters that we're getting analyzed this afternoon," said Calleigh. "We'll have the graphologist send you a report."  
  
"We've got to explain the hair, too, though," said Tripp.  
  
"We will somehow. We think he may have stolen it from the house while we were down at the beach."  
  
"About that alibi," Tripp started.  
  
"He was with me 24/7, all week," said Calleigh. "No window of opportunity at all, April 4th or any other day." Tripp also thought that sounded odd, they could tell, but he was also relieved.  
  
"There's one piece of objective evidence, too, supporting the alibi," offered Horatio. The other two looked at him eagerly. "The tracks in that field going to the grave had been raked over. But we know it wasn't the Hummer. The Hummer is wide." Tripp mentally tried to fit the Hummer in that path and nodded. "And about Calleigh's car. She had the oil changed on the way home Friday night before the week we were on vacation. They have one of those mileage stickers they put on. Then she didn't drive anywhere all week. Sunday night, she drove up to the conference, and yesterday she drove back. Then to headquarters this morning. We can verify mileage to the conference, and there just isn't enough extra mileage there to drive out to that field. It was a bit of a trip, way out on the outskirts of the city."  
  
"I hadn't thought of that," said Calleigh. "You need to come down and note the mileage, Tripp, before we leave."  
  
"Right," he said. "How long do you think it would take, Horatio, to dig that grave and put the body in?"  
  
He considered it, head tilted slightly. "No less than four hours." And thinking about the grave, his mind suddenly skittered off to the death of his mother again, and he flinched. Calleigh squeezed his arm tightly, and he looked at her, trying to refocus.  
  
"Okay, I guess that's it for now," said Tripp. "Let me know about the graphologist. I'll walk down to the garage with you to record the mileage." He offered them as close to a sympathetic look as Frank Tripp was capable of. "We'll get this guy," he said.  
  
"Yes," said Calleigh, "we will." Horatio didn't say anything.  
  
***  
  
"Okay," said Calleigh, "what do we want to eat? We've got time to grab lunch before the appointment." She looked over at Horatio, trying not to let him slip back into that mental maze now that he had started to show signs of coming out of it. "Come on, Horatio. You're picking."  
  
He glanced at his watch but didn't disagree with the idea of lunch. "Chinese," he said finally.  
  
"Good choice." She headed for the nearest Chinese place. "I hadn't thought of that about the mileage. Nice CSI work. By the way, Speed is going to try to develop latent prints on the plastic. He thinks the perp couldn't have worn gloves taking it out of the original packaging, even if he did while setting up the body."  
  
"Good idea," said Horatio. "We need to track her contacts, too. Karen might be able to tell us something."  
  
"Who's Karen?"  
  
He explained about the note found on the body. "It just establishes the date, I think. But Karen had to be a good friend. She might know some of Marcella's other friends."  
  
They arrived at the restaurant but decided to eat out in the car. Their table conversation might make other patrons of the restaurant nervous. So they went in together to order, then went back out to the parking lot. "Horatio," asked Calleigh, "Marcella lived in that house too, right? She would know you didn't usually lock the door just going down to the beach?"  
  
"Right. I've lived there 15 years. She could even tell him when I usually went down to the beach and for how long." He grinned at her. "We have got to start locking that door. Stupid of us, really."  
  
"Yes, it was." She chewed a bite thoughtfully. "You said she wasn't gullible, though."  
  
"No, she wasn't. Or vindictive. I imagine she talked about me as little as I talked about her. Whoever this man is, he's skillful at manipulating people." Calleigh carefully kept her eyes on her fried rice. "He would have had to earn her trust slowly. Maybe he still has the gun. He was setting me up. Maybe he wouldn't think of covering his own tracks."  
  
"Or the acid bottle, maybe," she said and instantly regretted it. He immediately thought of Marcella's destroyed face again and automatically jumped to Rosalind's face instead. He closed his eyes, picturing his mother alive, trying to replace the image of her dead. It worked after a few seconds. He opened his eyes and met Calleigh's.  
  
"You're still seeing it?"  
  
He nodded. "I've got them so tied together now, as soon as I get started on Marcella, it jumps over. The reimaging usually works, though. Eventually." He shuddered slightly. "I think this man is deliberately trying to drive me crazy, Cal."  
  
"I think so, too." She reached out and squeezed his arm. "Just who the hell does he think he is?"  
  
He looked at her, and she saw the sense of violation in his eyes slowly supplanted by anger. "Right. Who the hell does he think he is?" His eyes rested on her warmly. "He didn't count on you."  
  
"I'm your secret weapon. For the alibi last week, and for this week, too."  
  
He smiled at her. "I used to think that job was the only thing in my life that was stable."  
  
"You were wrong."  
  
"I'm glad I was wrong," he said. She leaned over and kissed him, and this time, he responded, providing some live entertainment for the patrons of Master Tang's Chinese.  
  
"Come on," she said, breaking away finally. "Let's go prove that these letters are fakes."  
  
***  
  
"Hmmm." The graphologist carefully studied the four samples spread out on his desk, the three letters and the signature that Horatio had written for him on a blank sheet of paper. He got out a magnifying glass and pondered them again, point by point. "Fascinating." Calleigh had a sudden image of Spock, from Star Trek, and had to fight not to dissolve into giggles in front of his desk. Horatio looked at her curiously. The man studied the signatures for at least 10 minutes, while Calleigh and Horatio waited in respectful silence. "Well," he said finally, looking up. "It isn't forgery."  
  
"What?" Horatio and Calleigh objected simultaneously.  
  
"Take it easy. You've got quite a bit to work with for your investigation here. But that is unquestionably your signature. However, it's traced."  
  
"Traced? How can you tell?"  
  
"Look at these three letters. The signatures are identical on them. Absolutely identical in every point. And that proves that they are all traced from a real sample of your signature. The paper's thin enough to do it. It's impossible to sign your name completely identically three times. Or even twice." He saw their dubious looks and shoved a pad of paper over. "Try it. Sign your name, then sign below that and make it identical in every respect. You can't do it." They tried and quickly discovered he was right. "There are slight variations in the signature each time. The personality and style are what make the analysis possible. Any time you have multiple identical signatures, they are traced. Or mass reproduced, like some politicians do for their letters. A rubber stamp signature."  
  
"So if he'd just left one letter, it might not have been caught," said Horatio.  
  
"It would be much harder. There's another thing that's quite interesting here, though. The signature he was tracing for the letters is several years old."  
  
"You can tell that from it?" Calleigh was impressed.  
  
"Yes. Look at two signatures separated by several years, and you can see how the person has developed. All people keep developing over time. It's still identifiable, but the growth, positive or negative, is there. These two," he indicated the signature on the letters and the one Horatio had written for him a few minutes ago, "are several years apart."  
  
"Probably eight," said Horatio. Calleigh looked at him. "I'm wondering if it's a copy of the signature on the divorce decree. That would be eight years ago, but I bet she still had it in a file somewhere."  
  
"Quite possibly. Several years, anyway."  
  
"Can you tell what mood the person was in when they wrote it?" asked Calleigh. "That might show up on a divorce decree."  
  
"I wasn't mad," said Horatio. "Resigned more than anything."  
  
"Mood sometimes shows up in pen pressure, but of course, that won't be apparent on a tracing. Writing shows more your overall, long-term state rather than your mood of the moment, though. Like the changes I was talking about. Look here." They leaned forward over his desk. He held a ruler against the two signatures. "See how the recent one is very slightly angled up, while the other is straight. That's optimism. You've got a much brighter outlook on life now than you did then. Not that it was pessimistic then - that would be slanting down - but the absolutely straight signature is more restricted, controlled almost. Refusing to be pessimistic, but not optimistic either. Insisting on life on an even keel. Now the loops. Look at the loops there on the current one, relaxed but closed. That's fulfillment. Now on the one from years ago, your loops are tighter, and even a few left open. That's control, secretiveness, but lack of fulfillment. You're really much happier now than you were then."  
  
This was fascinating, Calleigh decided. "What else can you tell about him?"  
  
"He has a very precise mind and wants everything in order. That hasn't changed. He has an unusually balanced personal and family identity. Personal is a bit stronger, but on most people, one will be quite stronger than the other. You get that from the first letter of the first and last names. The first name is your personal identity, the last your family. See how firm and strong the H is, a bit bigger than the C but not that much. Now on yours, Mrs. Caine," he indicated the sheet where Calleigh had been trying to sign her name identically, "see how large the second C is proportionally. I would guess that you haven't been married long, and you're still reveling in the new name." She nodded. "One other thing that stands out, Mr. Caine. You've been injured very badly at some point in the last year or so."  
  
"You can tell that?" Horatio was impressed.  
  
"Oh, yes. Severe physical injury or illness, over months, not just acutely, has an effect on the writing. Overall, though, you're a much happier, more fulfilled person than you were. You feel better about yourself and life in general. Even in spite of this present problem. But like I said, writing shows more long-term development than acute individual situations." He read the letters and shook his head. "You know, even without the tracing evidence, I'd question this signature attached to this letter. The personality of the signature doesn't match the content of the letter at all. Whoever wrote these is seriously disturbed."  
  
"But intelligent and manipulative," said Calleigh. "That's even worse."  
  
"Yes. Morally bankrupt. The signatures of famous people fascinate me. Trying to assess their signatures knowing the personality and deeds. Abraham Lincoln, now, had a quite interesting one. It literally had a three step level going up. The baseline was stairstepped slightly. Not slanted, like yours is, Mr. Caine. Stairstepped. Very odd. That's something almost no forger catches. Intelligent, orderly, but optimistic. And that's amazing, looking at his life. You could almost excuse pessimism, but it just isn't there. Then, there's another one I just acquired a copy of. I'd like your opinion on this one, and then I'll tell you whose it is." He fished in the bookcase behind his desk, then pulled out a book, turning it to the inside flap, and offered it to them.  
  
The signature was totally illegible. A tight, black scrawl, with the lines so compressed that they ran on top of each other. It was one of the smallest signatures either of them had seen, and somehow, it gave them both chills. Too tight, too compressed, but busy, scheming. "Whoever he is, I imagine he was a criminal," said Horatio.  
  
"Adolph Hitler." They studied it with new interest. "The signature of a man with a shrunken soul. But intelligent, decisive. It gives me chills to look at it. Pure evil."  
  
Horatio's cell phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, standing up and going over to the window.  
  
Calleigh leaned forward. "Thank you so much for your help on this. Would you be willing to give a statement to the police about these letters?"  
  
"Of course. I frequently testify in court. Here's my card. I hope you get this man. The signature tells me nothing about him, since it's traced, but the content is something else."  
  
Calleigh nodded. "Even though it's staged, it takes something to be capable of writing it."  
  
Horatio rejoined them. "That was Eric. They found Marcella's address book, and he has a name and address for Karen. I asked him to look for the divorce decree, too. Could you tell if it had been traced from that signature?"  
  
"Absolutely." They all shook hands. "Thank you for an interesting challenge, and good luck in your quest."  
  
"We'll find him," said Calleigh, and this time, Horatio echoed her a minute later.  
  
They left the graphologist's office with renewed hope and a specific destination. As they came up to her car, Horatio went to the driver's side. "I'll drive," he said. Her heart singing, Calleigh gave him the keys willingly. 


	5. Framed 5

"When a doctor does go wrong, he is the first of criminals. He has nerve, and he has knowledge."  
  
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Speckled Band"  
  
***  
  
Eric snapped his cell phone shut and turned to Speed. "H and Calleigh are going to go talk to Karen."  
  
Speed gave a noncommittal grunt. He was staring at the clear container holding the plastic sheeting as if he could make evidence appear by pure concentration. After all morning at the apartment, he had spent all afternoon trying to develop fingerprints on the plastic sheeting, processing it one tedious square foot at a time. "You find anything else in her address book?"  
  
"Nothing that jumps out. I'm going to make a copy of the whole thing, though, for H to look at. One of the names might mean something to him. He said they'd proved the letters are fake."  
  
"Great." Speed suddenly leaned forward, peering through the sides as the fumes inside surrounded the plastic. "I think I've got one here." Eric came over to watch eagerly. "Yep, beautiful. Three fingers there, probably thumb and first two." Speed opened the container, removed the cut square of plastic, and started the process to record those prints and run them through AFIS.  
  
"Speed," Eric started, then hesitated.  
  
"What's up, man?"  
  
"What do you think is going on?"  
  
Speed gave a martyred sigh. "I thought that's what we've been trying to work out all day."  
  
"No, not with the case. I mean with Horatio. About last week and timing. We're missing a lot of background there."  
  
"No kidding." Speed started the database search. "No point in pushing Calleigh on it, though. If she says she's not talking, she's not talking."  
  
"Yeah, but it bugs me. Something's wrong there. So I came in early this morning and did some research."  
  
"Delko, we promised not to take it any further."  
  
"No, we just promised not to ask him. I'm not going to ask him. No reason I can't look around on my own, though." Speed looked away from the shifting AFIS screen to meet his eyes. "Something's wrong. Maybe we could help with it." CSI was part of Eric's family, and he couldn't just stand by if something was wrong in his family. It wasn't in his nature.  
  
"I don't think Calleigh wants our help. Or H either." They looked at each other for a minute. "So what did you find out this morning?"  
  
"I was checking the vacation records. You know, H has always taken the first week in April off every single year as vacation for the last 15 years? Probably before that, too, but that's as far back as the computerized records went. CSI, Bomb Squad, Homicide. Always the same week."  
  
"15 years?"  
  
"15 years. Up until last year, and last year he was scheduled and had to cancel. You remember that case where the guy's identical twin brother committed the murder while he was establishing the alibi in Daytona Beach? That week. H never was himself that week."  
  
"Yeah, I remember that one. He was out of it that week." Speed stared at Delko. "He said something last night about an anniversary dinner. And it wasn't their wedding anniversary, even if Calleigh said so. But what's it the anniversary of?"  
  
"I took it as far as the computerized records went. No clue."  
  
"Got to be something major, to him anyway, if he takes it every year. Something older than 15 years. Maybe we could go down to the newspaper office. They've got microfilm archives that are pretty organized. Scan the news from the first week of April every year prior to that date."  
  
"We don't know it was news. To anyone but him, anyway."  
  
"It's a starting point." Speed was starting to get into the chase, too. "You're right, man. 15 years. Something's going on there."  
  
"You doing anything tonight? The newspaper will be open, getting the morning edition ready."  
  
"Why not? It's not like I have plans."  
  
"You still haven't heard back from Breeze?"  
  
"Nope. I really liked her, too."  
  
"Too early to give up, Speed. Women can sulk for ages sometimes. One day is nothing."  
  
"Thanks for the encouragement," Speed retorted. AFIS suddenly beeped, and both of them instantly turned professional again. "Brian Aster. Served time for manslaughter, got out two years ago." He studied the records. "No connection to Horatio I can see, though. And he's stayed clean. He's off parole, even."  
  
"Better call Tripp. I'll go make copies of this address book." Eric opened it again, looking at the neat, organized print. A woman's life contacts, all in perfect order. "How do people live like this?" His address book was full of scratched-out entries and interfiled with Post-It notes and bar napkins.  
  
"Beats me." Speed didn't have half the contacts Eric did, but he didn't even have an address book. Numbers he needed were jotted on bits of paper here and there, scattered around his apartment, the most important on the fridge. He pulled out his cell phone to call Tripp, but as the number dialed, his mind was back on Horatio again. First week in April, for 15 years. At least 15 years. There had to be something big there.  
  
***  
  
The door opened, and Karen Simpson looked out, dividing a puzzled glance between Horatio and Calleigh. "Can I help you?"  
  
"Ms. Simpson?" She nodded. "I'm Horatio Caine, and this is my wife, Calleigh. We're with the Miami-Dade PD." Both suspended from it, but he didn't mention that part.  
  
"Horatio Caine," she repeated thoughtfully. The name obviously rang a bell, but it was a distant, muted bell.  
  
"I'm Marcella's ex-husband."  
  
"Oh, right, of course. Sorry. She only mentioned your name once or twice." She looked at him with interest, mentally pairing him with Marcella.  
  
"Could we talk to you for a few minutes?" asked Calleigh.  
  
"I've got to be at work at 5:00. You can have half an hour. I work second shift." She backed away from the door and let them in. "Is this about the murder investigation?"  
  
"Yes," said Horatio. True enough. She obviously didn't know that he was the prime suspect. He felt a sudden wave of gratitude toward the captain. He had acted on the initial evidence, as he was required to do, but he had kept Horatio's name out of the papers for the moment.  
  
"We got your name from her address book," said Calleigh, as they sat down around her living room. "How long had you been friends?"  
  
"Four years. I was probably her best friend. We didn't get to see each other that often, because she worked days and I worked evenings. We'd meet for coffee once a week on my lunch break, though. 10:00 p.m. Just to talk for a few minutes, keep in touch."  
  
"Where did you meet?" asked Horatio.  
  
"At the truck stop where I work."  
  
"When did you see her last?"  
  
"Thursday night, let's see. It was March 30. And I should've met her the 6th, but she didn't show. I called and left her a message, but it wasn't written in stone. I just thought something had come up." She broke off suddenly, realizing exactly what had come up.  
  
"You didn't contact her at any point in the week between those dates?"  
  
"No. Like I said, we both had busy lives. It wasn't like we talked every day."  
  
Horatio leaned forward slightly. "Ms. Simpson, was Marcella seeing anyone?"  
  
"A man, you mean? No. She didn't hate them, but she had no use for them. Totally career minded. The few times I heard her mention you, it wasn't complimentary."  
  
"I'm sure of that," he said, smiling at her.  
  
"What did she say about him?" Calleigh couldn't resist asking. Horatio frowned at her slightly, and she met his eyes steadily.  
  
"The last time was last summer. You were on TV. A bridge fell or something." She looked from one to the other to see if they were following her, and they both nodded. "I made some comment about how you couldn't be that bad, if you did what you did then. She said. . . " She broke off suddenly.  
  
"Go ahead," urged Calleigh.  
  
"She said you were only open and caring with strangers, not with people you knew."  
  
Horatio actually flinched, and Calleigh made another note on her list of things to discuss with Marcella in the hereafter. "She was wrong," she said fiercely.  
  
Karen looked sheepish. "Her comment, not mine. Sorry."  
  
"We did ask for it." Horatio gave her a reassuring smile. "You're sure she hadn't met a man in the last year or so?"  
  
"Positive. I can't imagine her in a relationship. She was married to her job."  
  
"What was her job?" asked Horatio. She looked at him, surprised. "No, I don't know. We didn't keep in touch. She told me she didn't want to."  
  
"She taught at the University. History."  
  
"She always liked history," Horatio said, remembering her alive for once.  
  
"And she wasn't missed there for a week?" asked Calleigh.  
  
"It was spring break." Karen was looking guilty again, thinking that maybe she should have missed Marcella herself sooner.  
  
Horatio spoke quickly, to distract her. "Did she have any good friends she'd made in the past year? Not a romantic relationship? Anyone she mentioned at all?" He was more sure than ever that she wouldn't have mentioned personal details about him to a casual acquaintance. Karen obviously knew nothing of it, and she had been Marcella's best friend.  
  
Karen took time to think about it. "She really didn't have many friends. No one she was in close contact with except me. In fact, she'd been a little depressed the last few years. Mid life crisis kind of thing. She'd been seeing a psychiatrist."  
  
Horatio actually jumped, and Karen eyed him warily. His eyes met Calleigh's with the fire and intensity they always had on a case when he suddenly saw the answer, and she followed his mental leap. A psychiatrist. A psychiatrist who was also a criminal. That fit so well that it sent shivers down her spine. Who better to know how to manipulate people? For the first time, she thought of Marcella as a victim in this, too. "What was his name?" Horatio asked eagerly. Karen was still staring at him, taken aback at the sudden change. Horatio pulled himself together and damped the fire a bit. "Did she ever mention his name?"  
  
"No," said Karen.  
  
"And she'd been seeing him how long?" asked Calleigh.  
  
"A year, maybe." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to get ready for work now."  
  
Horatio and Calleigh both stood up. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Simpson," said Horatio sincerely.  
  
"I hope you catch this man," she said. "Do you think it was someone she knew?"  
  
"We can't reveal details of the investigation, I'm afraid," said Horatio. "But we will catch him." It was a fierce vow, and Karen, looking at him, couldn't imagine how Marcella had said that this man didn't care.  
  
***  
  
"A psychiatrist," said Calleigh, back in the car. "Boy, that would fit things. So how many psychiatrists do you know who have grudges against you?"  
  
Horatio's face fell. "None."  
  
"None? Come on, there's got to be a connection."  
  
"I'm sure of it, but I don't know what it is." He stared into space. "Maybe we'll find it in her address book. Canceled checks from her bank. Somewhere, she'll have his name written down. She was very organized. You know, that fits with the whole feel of this case, though. The technical parts, like my signature on the letters, are pretty good on the surface, but there are errors. That part's incomplete. It's the manipulation that's professional." He shuddered again, and Calleigh reached out and squeezed his arm.  
  
"We're making progress, Horatio. We know what kind of person we're after now. Maybe Speed can run a cross reference with your cases and psychiatrists."  
  
"Maybe." His cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Horatio."  
  
"Tripp." The name was unnecessary. That gruff voice could only go with one person. "What did the graphologist say?"  
  
"They're fakes, and he's willing to tell you so."  
  
Tripp gave a faint sigh of relief. "I need you back down at Headquarters."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Speedle found prints on the plastic. Ex-con named Brian Aster. Name mean anything to you?"  
  
Horatio ran a brief mental search. "Nothing."  
  
"I pulled him in for questioning, and he swears he doesn't know anything. But the prints are there. Something doesn't smell right on this one, though. I really think he might be telling the truth. I'd like to let him bump into you accidentally, see if I can jolt him."  
  
"A reverse line up," said Horatio.  
  
"Right."  
  
"Okay, we'll head that way. We just talked to Karen. I'll tell you later." He snapped the phone shut and turned to Calleigh. "Speed found fingerprints on the plastic, and Tripp pulled the owner in. Man named Brian Aster. The name doesn't mean anything to me. Tripp wants to see if he recognizes me."  
  
"Is he a psychiatrist?" Calleigh wondered.  
  
"Let's go ask him, shall we?" Horatio put the car in gear and pulled out smoothly into the late afternoon traffic.  
  
***  
  
Horatio and Calleigh stood on the other side of the one way glass, looking at Brian Aster. He seemed nervous in the way that ex-cons trying to go straight are. Horatio had never seen him before. "And somehow I don't think he's a psychiatrist," he said, watching Aster nervously fumble with an unlit cigarette under Tripp's disapproving eye. "Let's see if he knows me." He opened the door and marched in, oozing confidence. "Tripp, I need to talk to you about something."  
  
Tripp glared at him with fake disapproval, but his focus was actually sideways, on Aster. "In a minute, Horatio. Let me finish up here." Aster was looking from one to the other of them curiously, but there wasn't even a flicker of recognition. Tripp was watching his eyes, and Horatio was watching his hands. Nothing. "Okay, so all you can tell me is you don't know how your fingerprints got there."  
  
The cigarette snapped between his fingers. "I know it sounds lame, but it's true. I don't know how it happened. And I didn't kill the woman. I've done my time, learned my lesson." Horatio, studying him carefully, believed him. He wasn't concealing something, just nervous from past experiences with the police. But in that case, how did his fingerprints get there? Maybe Horatio wasn't the only one being set up.  
  
"Mr. Aster," he said silkily, cutting right over the start of Tripp's next question, "have you ever seen a psychiatrist?"  
  
The head came up instantly in a wave of decisiveness. "A shrink? Hell, no. Wouldn't go to one if you paid me." For that instant, the hands stopped fidgeting. The reaction had been automatic, not calculated, but definitely the strongest one he'd shown. Horatio tightened up himself, and Calleigh, watching him, was reminded of a bird dog on point.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Aster," he said. "I think that will be all for the moment, won't it, Tripp?"  
  
Tripp was staring at Horatio. "For the moment," he agreed finally, "but you are not to leave the city. Thank you." Aster looked from one to the other of them, wondering who in fact was in charge here, then quickly scrambled up before Tripp changed his mind.  
  
Tripp turned to Horatio as the door closed. "Has he ever seen a psychiatrist?"  
  
"Marcella was seeing a psychiatrist for the past year at least. Professionally, not personally. I think he's the one behind this."  
  
Tripp pulled out his notebook. "What's his name?"  
  
"I don't know," said Horatio.  
  
"Office address? Telephone number? Any identifying information at all?"  
  
"I'm still working on that part," said Horatio.  
  
"What's his motive?"  
  
"I'm still working on that part, too."  
  
Tripp eyed him steadily. "When you find him, make yourself an appointment. Now, have you ever seen Aster?"  
  
"No. And he didn't know me. I think he's being set up, too."  
  
"Why would someone set him up? Wait, don't tell me, you're still working on that part." Tripp sighed. "What about the graphologist and Karen?" Horatio gave him a report from the two appointments and handed over the graphologist's card. Tripp pocketed it, and the three of them started out of the interrogation room together. "So you think Aster's telling the truth?"  
  
"Yes. His answer about the psychiatrist was interesting, though. I don't think he was lying. He answered too quickly to think about it first. But the whole tone changed there."  
  
"Forget the tone and explain the fingerprints. I'm going to have his place searched for the gun," said Tripp.  
  
"Detective Tripp!" The three of them turned to see the captain, along with Adele Sevilla, heading down the hall toward them. "How is your investigation coming?"  
  
"We're making some progress," said Tripp. "CSI matched a fingerprint, and I just talked to one suspect."  
  
"Keep me informed," said the captain. He didn't say anything to Horatio, but his eyes spoke for him. Duty warring with regret. "I'll be glad to get this cleared up."  
  
"So will I," said Horatio. Adele bumped him lightly on the shoulder. The captain turned toward Calleigh.  
  
"I understand that you assaulted Lieutenant Wilson this morning."  
  
"Yes, sir, in front of witnesses. And threatened to do it again. What's my punishment?" She met his eyes unflinchingly.  
  
"You assaulted Wilson?" Even Tripp sounded impressed.  
  
The captain's shoulders quivered slightly, and he looked at the floor for a moment, regathering his control. "I'll take a few days to decide that. Meanwhile, I am backing him up on your suspension."  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Calleigh. The captain abruptly turned and walked off. His shoulders were still quivering. Adele shot Calleigh a wide grin as she followed him.  
  
"We'd better get out of here, Cal. We are suspended, after all," said Horatio.  
  
"Right. Good night, Tripp."  
  
"Night," he said gruffly. He watched as they walked away, then turned, his face a stoic mask, the control perfect. Frank Tripp walked back into the interrogation room, closed the door, and leaned against it, safely out of view from the window. Then he laughed until he could hardly stand. Finally, under perfect control again, he exited the room and headed back for his desk.  
  
***  
  
"Horatio! Calleigh!" Alexx's voice caught them as they were getting into the car. They both turned to face her as she jogged briskly up. "Eric wanted me to bring you this. He and Speed are working another angle tonight, he said. It's a complete copy of Marcella's address book. He thought one of the names might mean something to you." She offered him a manila envelope.  
  
"Thank you, Alexx. It's a good idea. I'll look it over tonight."  
  
Her gaze scanned him up and down. "You're making progress, aren't you?"  
  
"Bits and pieces. We've proven the letters are fakes, and we've got a possible lead on who's behind this. This address book might help."  
  
"I've got to get home tonight," Alexx apologized. "My husband is out, so I've got the kids."  
  
"We'll be fine," said Calleigh. "Thanks for everything, Alexx." She hugged her, and Horatio joined them in a three-cornered squeeze.  
  
"Everything will work out," Alexx promised both of them again. And this time, all of them believed it a little more than they had the previous night.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh unlocked their front door as Horatio took the mail out of the box. He sorted it neatly into two stacks after she flipped on the living room light. "What do you want to eat?" she asked, taking her mail from him and heading for the kitchen.  
  
She heard his sharp intake of breath behind her and spun around. He had slit open his first letter as neatly as usual and now was staring at the single sheet of paper inside. Calleigh dropped her own mail in the floor as she dashed back to his side.  
  
It was obviously a copy of an old newspaper story. The headline announced, "Miami woman found beaten to death in home." Below, the story began. "Rosalind Caine, age 38, of Miami was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon by her 17-year-old son, Horatio." Calleigh wrenched the paper loose from his hands without reading more. He didn't need to read more, of course. His mind was already back there in his mother's kitchen. She wrapped both arms protectively around him, squeezing him almost painfully tightly. "Think of her alive, Horatio. You can replace it." His eyes slowly shifted to focus on her, then closed. It took a good ten seconds, but it worked, and he reopened them to meet her worried look.  
  
"Who is this man? What did I ever do to him?"  
  
"We're going to find out." She pulled his head over so she could kiss him. They just stood there a minute, holding each other.  
  
"Where was that envelope mailed from?" he asked suddenly, the CSI in him stirring to life. She checked.  
  
"A main post office downtown. The return address is just the post office, too. And I bet he wore gloves." She crumpled up the envelope like she had already crumpled up the page inside. "In fact, we'll just assume he wore gloves. There's no reason to get them processed."  
  
He looked at her gratefully. He was already feeling violated enough, without everyone in the lab making his personal nightmares evidence. "What would I do without you?" He shuddered again suddenly. "A year ago, I couldn't replace the images. I would have been lost already, Cal." Calleigh shuddered herself, thinking about what this man was trying to do, and she wrapped him in her arms again, desperately trying to hold him to her. He returned her embrace full force, and slowly their heartbeats returned to normal together.  
  
***  
  
They sat on the couch together after eating, poring over the address book for hours. Calleigh was fascinated at this glance at Marcella's life. She seemed to have been as organized as Horatio was. But nowhere in the book was there a psychiatrist's name.  
  
"Maybe it's under his personal name, not as doctor," Calleigh suggested.  
  
"No, she would have listed him as Dr. Whoever. Especially since he wasn't a social friend. The only connection was professional, according to Karen." He shook his head. "I don't know how he got her to talk about it, though. She'd only mentioned me to Karen a few times. I can't imagine her just casually mentioning last week to a psychiatrist." His mind skittered off to last week again, and he wrenched it back. "Then there's Aster's reaction. I don't think he was lying about psychiatrists, but it was different from the rest of the interview. Odd, in a way I can't put my finger on." He leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly as the clock on the wall chimed ten. "What a day. We're making progress, but I still can't see the end of it."  
  
"It's got to be the psychiatrist, though." He nodded, sure of it. "Maybe we can get financial records tomorrow. Cancelled checks or something. His name would be there."  
  
"I don't know why it isn't in the book," he persisted. "She should have written it down. She wrote everything down."  
  
"Horatio." She hesitated until his focus was completely on her. "I really think we'd better knock you out again tonight." He immediately rebelled, his body pulling back, and she drove on quickly. "We aren't just fighting memories here. We're up against a person, and he's deliberately trying to use this against you. We can win over the rest of it later, but right now, we need to beat him. We don't need to give him ammunition. The tireder you get, the more susceptible you're going to be. And do you really think you'd just sleep soundly tonight? We've made a lot of progress today. Don't lose ground."  
  
He hesitated, considering it, finally shaking his head. "You're right, I guess. I hate giving up control, though."  
  
She knew it. "Don't think of it as giving up control. Think of it as keeping him from getting control. This is your decision, not his. And not mine. Tonight, it is your decision."  
  
His eyes slowly absorbed her words, traveling through resentment to anger to gratitude. She was truly making it his decision. "Okay."  
  
She gathered the papers and got to her feet, heading for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with coffee for both of them. They drank it curled up together on the couch. "Tonight, though, let's get on to bed. You nearly spent it on the bedroom floor last night." He laughed, and she hugged him quickly as he got up. "Humor. That's one of our weapons. That and anger. We can use those against him."  
  
"The anger isn't too hard to find," he said, and there were steel bands under his soft voice. "One other thing I've thought of," he said, as they started to get undressed.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"This isn't just about us. This man is too good for this to be his first crime. If he's a psychiatrist gone bad, he's been using that position regularly to manipulate people. His influence goes way past me, and it needs to be eliminated."  
  
Calleigh hugged him again as they got into bed. Trust Horatio to get even more fired up on a mission when it wasn't just personal. "I can't believe how you think about others all the time."  
  
His expression changed, and when he spoke, she knew he was thinking about Marcella's words. "I don't only open up to people who aren't close to me. Do I?"  
  
"No," she said. "You're opening up to me more all the time. And this week, after that phone call bit, you really have been letting me go through all of it with you. Full partners. That's true marriage, Horatio. And everyone on the team knows how much you care about us. Marcella just didn't know you."  
  
He kissed her deeply. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know it?" She snuggled down against him, returning his kiss gladly. "How long does that stuff take to kick in?"  
  
She laughed. "Not much longer, I'm afraid. I doubt we'd have time to do much." She squeezed him tightly. "But we have lots of other days. This is only temporary, and we have the rest of our lives together."  
  
"The rest of our lives," he agreed. "I love you, Cal."  
  
"I love you, too." She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It seemed to repeat her name over and over. He's mine, she thought fiercely. He knows he's mine. Whoever you are, you can't have him.  
  
She lay there next to him a long time after he was asleep, but her mind refused to shut off, chewing over the case like a dog with a bone. Finally, she slipped out of bed and put her robe on. Horatio was totally out, and he wouldn't miss her presence. She went back into the living room and ran through the address book again. Nothing even resembling a psychiatrist. There was a medical doctor and a dentist, though, each clearly labeled. It really was odd, like Horatio had said. The psychiatrist should have been here. She picked up the phone book finally and flipped to the yellow pages, hoping to match a name, either to her memory or to Marcella's address book. She hadn't realized how many psychiatrists there were in Miami. She browsed down the list one by one, wondering how they all kept in business. Suddenly, her finger froze, and her blood froze a fraction of a second later. That was it. That had to be it. Instantly, she knew who was behind this, and she knew how he was doing it, and she saw no way on earth of proving it. He had discovered the perfect crime.  
  
Seized with fear, she bolted up from the couch, dropping the phone book, and rushed back down the hall. Horatio was still there, quietly sleeping, far beyond the reach of this man at the moment. Calleigh scrambled back into bed, sliding over tightly against him, wanting to reassure herself of his presence. Horatio, she thought, how are we going to beat this one? She switched out the light, but her mind's eye still saw the entry in the yellow pages. Five words that explained everything, the identity and the method.  
  
Mark Harwood, Psychiatry and Hypnotherapy. 


	6. Framed 6

"I will speak daggers . . . but use none."  
  
William Shakespeare, Hamlet  
  
***  
  
"Miami woman found beaten to death in home. Rosalind Caine, age 38, of Miami was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon by her 17-year-old son, Horatio."  
  
Speed's eyes, glazed from hours of scanning the microfilm reader, suddenly froze, caught by the name. He scanned the rest of the story quickly, then looked up to check the date. April 4, making the murder April 3. Monday of last week. The anniversary. "Eric," he said urgently. "I've got it."  
  
Eric left the microfilm reader next door and slouched over, as tired of this as Speed was. Curiosity had stopped being an adequate motive long since. Only thinking of Horatio had kept him here. "What is it?"  
  
Speed couldn't find words big enough. "Read it." He pointed at the correct story on the reader. Eric leaned over his shoulder, reading the story, then looked back at his friend, whose expression mirrored his own. Shocked sympathy.  
  
"He found his mother murdered?" Somehow Eric wanted confirmation, even after seeing it in print.  
  
Speed nodded. "Beaten to death, it says. Not just shot or whatever. Can you imagine coming home one day and walking in on that? He was 17."  
  
"Wonder if they caught the perp?" They both turned back to the reader and scanned forward several days eagerly, but there was no mention of it. Only her death had merited a brief notice. Justice, if it happened, had received no public recognition. They both felt the familiar rage from their CSI work, with a personal flavor this time.  
  
"CSI has archives," Speed remembered. "It was a murder case. I bet we can find the file, since we've got the date."  
  
"Why wouldn't he ever say anything?" Eric wondered. "Why shut everybody out?"  
  
Speed understood that part perfectly. "What I want to know is why he and Calleigh would have dinner catered and celebrate his mother's death?" Their eyes met, exchanging only questions, not answers.  
  
"Let's go," Eric said suddenly. It was the middle of the night, but they left the newspaper office and headed for CSI.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh handed Horatio his third cup of coffee. She was almost vibrating like a drum this morning with repressed information, and he picked up on it, even when his mind was still partly spanned with cobwebs. "What is it?" he asked.  
  
She studied his eyes. They were still only half focused. "In a little while. Drink that."  
  
He gulped it down and passed the cup back for a refill. "Did something happen last night?"  
  
"I'll tell you after breakfast." She put another cup of coffee in front of him and worked busily around the kitchen, trying to steady her mind by pushing her body to match its speed. It didn't work. She hadn't felt so intense even accidentally high on cocaine after dispo day. Was this what he felt all the times he knew the solution and couldn't prove it?  
  
Horatio was watching her, puzzled. "Slow down, Cal. You'll hurt yourself."  
  
A doctor without a conscience was stalking his sanity, and he was worried about her hurting herself. Calleigh shook her head again in exasperation and plunked a plate down in front of him. "Eat." She poured him another cup of coffee too, the fifth. He was still looking at her. "Come on, eat."  
  
"Not until you do." She'd totally forgotten to fix herself a plate. She got it and sat down across from him, attacking her eggs like they had committed some crime. Horatio gave up and took the path of least resistance, working on his own breakfast. She finished way before he did, of course. He still wasn't operating at full speed. Finally he was done, and she took his plate and refilled his coffee cup again.  
  
"That's six. Good thing for you that this doesn't happen every day."  
  
"It won't. We'll catch him. Sit down, Calleigh. What's wrong?"  
  
She put her hand under his chin, lifting it to study his eyes again, gauging his lucidity. They still didn't look quite normal, but she could see the gears lurching into action behind them.  
  
"I'm here, or close enough," he said peevishly. "What's wrong?"  
  
She sat down and pulled the yellow pages over. "I got back up last night, after you were asleep. I was going through the phone book trying to match names." She pushed the book under his nose, pointing to the relevant entry. Watching his still slightly drugged brain make one of its sudden leaps was almost funny. He might not be 100% there yet, but he did instantly get the implications.  
  
"Harwood. Christopher Harwood. Our sniper."  
  
"Right. This is probably an older brother. Some relative anyway. If he had a brother anything like him, and that brother became a psychiatrist, it's terrifying to think of."  
  
"That explains the motive. And Aster's reaction. When the tone switched. That had to be a hypnotic suggestion."  
  
"He committed the murder, at Harwood's direction. But Harwood told him to deny ever meeting him. Why do you suppose he didn't tell Marcella to deny meeting him?"  
  
"Karen already knew. It didn't come up right away when she started seeing him." He finished his coffee. "Get me another cup." He was getting annoyed at himself now, trying to chase out the details faster than his body wanted him to. Calleigh poured him another cup and sat back down. "He must have told her to leave his name out of her address book, though. That's the only reason she wouldn't have it there. Or told her to rewrite her address book into a new one, since she probably wrote the name down when she first started seeing him. That address book was all done with the same pen. Probably all at the same time."  
  
Calleigh was impressed. "I didn't notice that."  
  
"It also explains how he got her to tell him about last week. I knew she wouldn't have just mentioned it. She might not have wanted to stay with me, but she did respect privacy." He abruptly hit the wall Calleigh was already nose to nose with. "But how are we going to prove it?"  
  
She sighed. "Exactly. Being related to a felon isn't a crime. He hasn't done anything himself."  
  
Horatio's head tilted slightly. "I wonder. Aster committed the murder, with the gun, but I'll bet Harwood put her in the grave and used the acid." His mind promptly jumped from there to his mother's death, and this time, he jerked himself back almost savagely to the task at hand. She saw the anger burning in his clearing eyes. "I am not a rat, damn it, that he can train to respond to a stimulus."  
  
"Why do you think he did that himself?"  
  
"Two reasons. The lack of fingerprints on the plastic and the note. Speed had to really work at developing those latent prints. They weren't left the night of the crime. He probably got the plastic from Aster, so it would have earlier prints. But if he's setting up Aster as a back up, in case I fall through, and Aster arranged the body, why was Aster wearing gloves? He would tell him to leave them off, leave obvious prints. So he was wearing gloves there because he wasn't Aster."  
  
Calleigh nodded. "What's the second reason?"  
  
"I think I read somewhere once that you can't make someone commit an action that totally violates their character, even by hypnotic suggestion. Aster would kill, under the right conditions. He already has. But he isn't vicious to that extent. He would kill from a distance, with a gun. I don't think he'd even use a knife. He certainly wouldn't use acid, even after death." Again he thought of Rosalind and took a few seconds to reimage it, thinking of her alive. And suddenly something else clicked in his mind, a lot more efficiently than a few minutes ago. The well-oiled engine was starting to run smoothly again. He shivered slightly.  
  
"What is it?" asked Calleigh.  
  
"Iago."  
  
"What?" He had totally lost her. Maybe the drug wasn't wearing off.  
  
"I was just thinking of Mom alive, and I remembered a conversation we had once. She always loved Shakespeare, and about a week before she died, she took us to see Othello on stage. Have you ever read it?"  
  
"It's been a while. Iago is the criminal, right?"  
  
"Right. But he doesn't actually do anything himself. Every crime in that play is plotted by Iago, and he manipulates other people into doing them for him, just for the power trip. The man who played Iago that night was brilliant. It gave me chills watching him. So the next morning, I was talking to Mom - we always talked half an hour in the mornings - and we got to discussing criminals and motives. She said that was a special kind of evil, to enjoy manipulating people, just because you could. Even for people who never took it to the lengths Iago did. That's exactly what this man is, Calleigh. He's Iago come to life. Do you remember how precise everything about Christopher Harwood was, how he was trying to control his world, to give himself a sense of power? Mark Harwood is doing the same thing using people's minds."  
  
Calleigh shivered herself. "You're right. If I had any doubt there's a relationship, I don't now. What do you suppose the parents were like? Evil too?"  
  
He shook his head. "Probably weak. The kids probably wanted to control things because they felt like the world was out of control when they were kids."  
  
She could certainly identify with that herself. "That's no excuse for crimes, though."  
  
"Absolutely not. Environment and upbringing forms us, but it doesn't dictate who we must be. There's still a personal choice. I knew a man in college who was the first nonalcoholic in his family in four generations. Four complete generations, men and women, and all of them were alcoholics until him. Someone was trying to tell him once alcoholism was caused by environment and genetics, and he said, 'It may have an effect, but all the environment and genetics in the world won't pick up the glass. That's something I do, or don't do, myself.'" He looked up at her, and his eyes were lasers again. "But this man taking advantage of people from his professional position is unforgivable. I don't care what his motives or his background are. He will pay for this." He wasn't thinking of himself, she knew, but all the others, probably years worth of victims.  
  
"I agree, Horatio. But how do we get him? Is there any direct evidence tying him to the crime?"  
  
"If there is, we haven't found it yet. And we can't get a search warrant based on a name."  
  
"So what are we going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to confront him myself." He mowed straight over Calleigh's protest. "This has gone far enough. It ends today."  
  
"You can't take the law into your own hands, Horatio."  
  
He gave her a humorless grin. "I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to break him, his style. Find his mental keys and use them, and get him to confess."  
  
Calleigh stared at him. "Horatio, look at what he can do from a distance. You can't let him get at you face to face."  
  
"It'll be better face to face. All the advantage goes to me now. I know exactly what I'm fighting, and none of his other victims ever had that knowledge. And he probably thinks I'm incapacitated by now. Open revelation was the only thing that finally stopped Iago. I'm going to march straight into his office and take him apart, piece by mental piece, like working a puzzle in reverse."  
  
Calleigh's heart felt like ice in her chest. She had never been so afraid in her life, but what could she do? Even from her terror, she was proud of him. He was right. There really was no other way. "I'm going with you." He nodded, never assuming otherwise. "But please, be careful, Horatio. This man is a professional."  
  
He stood up briskly with all of his old confidence. "So am I." 


	7. Framed 7

"We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat."  
  
Queen Victoria  
  
***  
  
Alexx was, for once, shocked into speechlessness. She gaped at the file Speed and Eric had placed in front of her, at the pictures. Alexx spent every day investigating violent death, but the pure senseless rage, the brutality of this went straight to her heart. Her medical eye wrenched itself from what used to be a face to see the clenched hands, the blood on the fingernails that was not the victim's own. "Oh baby, you fought for it, didn't you?" she murmured, overwhelmed with sympathy for a woman who had died almost 30 years ago. She looked back up at her coworkers, both standing there uncertainly.  
  
"So what do we do?" asked Speed. He and Eric were totally over their heads in this one, and they had realized it the minute they read Rosalind's case file.  
  
Alexx was uncertain herself for once. "I knew his mother had been killed, and he had found her, but I never imagined . . ." She looked back down at the crime scene photos. "He takes that same week off every year? The whole week?"  
  
"Yeah," said Eric. "Every single year since then. I think he relives it or something. The investigation took four days. I think he relives the whole thing."  
  
"29 years, and no one ever noticed," said Alexx softly.  
  
"He's so good at hiding," said Speed. "He didn't want us to know."  
  
"But what do we do?" Eric persisted. "Can we help him or something?"  
  
Alexx was starting to think it through. "You remember, when he came back Monday, you asked how vacation was, and he said it was better than he had hoped for."  
  
"Yeah, that's right," said Speed. Monday seemed like an eternity ago.  
  
"If we'd found this out before this year, I'd say we needed to push him on it. Support him whether he wanted us to or not. But he's got Calleigh now. She knows, and she isn't going to be content with just knowing. I think she's working on him already. They took last week together. She's helping him with it."  
  
Eric stared at her. "Are you saying we should just do nothing?"  
  
Alexx sighed. "Believe me, I'd rather speak up, too." In fact, she'd like to shake him, try to knock some sense into that stubborn head of his. 28 years before this one, and he'd spent them alone. "But he's not alone anymore. And Calleigh's more effective than we would be. I don't think it would gain anything, and he would be uncomfortable with us knowing."  
  
"But we're his friends," Speed protested.  
  
"He knows that. He does know it. But there's a better answer in Calleigh, and she's already got her foot in the door. Sometimes, you have to show friendship by not saying or doing something, instead of by doing it." She looked at them sympathetically. "It'll be hard for me, too. But Calleigh called this one the other night, and I really do think she's right. We shouldn't push him on this. Leave her a clear field to work." They reluctantly nodded. "It can't hurt for us to try to take any more cases with faceless bodies so he won't have to, though. It's a wonder he didn't have a heart attack on the spot seeing Marcella. Especially if he'd just spent last week reliving his mother's case."  
  
"But why do you suppose they celebrated it last week?" Speed wondered. "H said that himself. They had dinner catered and all. And what was that about timing?"  
  
Alexx shook her head. "His ex-wife must have known, so someone who'd talked to her could assume that he would be on vacation. But we still don't know everything here, and we aren't going to."  
  
"And we're just supposed to accept that?" said Eric. It violated his CSI principles as well as his larger friendship ones.  
  
"Sorry," said Alexx. "You did ask for my advice."  
  
"What is going on here?" Wilson's voice echoed off the walls of the morgue. "Don't you have enough to do? Get to work."  
  
Speed quickly gathered Rosalind's case file before Wilson could see it. "Yes, sir, right away, sir." He scurried off, leaving Wilson feeling insulted and wondering why. Eric followed more slowly.  
  
Wilson turned to face Alexx. "What is going on here?"  
  
"They just wanted to ask my advice on something. Technically, we were all early, anyway, so it didn't come off the clock."  
  
"Something about Caine, I bet," Wilson guessed. She didn't deny it. "What is it about that guy, anyway? He's been gone two days, but everybody acts like he's still here. What's so special about him?"  
  
Alexx met his eyes squarely. "He cares," she said simply. Wilson hesitated on the brink of another question, decided that it would sound unprofessional, and left. He would never admit it, but he was actually starting to envy Horatio. For all that he had read about management techniques and career advancement, loyalty couldn't be gained by reading the right books.  
  
***  
  
Horatio parked in the lot next to the professional office building. He eyed a car three slots down, an understatedly expensive looking sedan with a customized plate reading HD DCTR. "Oh, do I want to process that car. 99% chance it transported the body to that field."  
  
Calleigh laughed. "We have to get enough for a warrant, first. Once we do, we've got him cold. Like you said, he does make mistakes on the evidence."  
  
"Right." Horatio unfastened his seatbelt and turned to face her, laying out the battle plan to the troops, even though she was the only troop present. He looked better than he had all week, Calleigh thought, intense, prepared. At last, he knew who he was after and had a plan. "Now then, once we get in there, let me deal with him. I've got two good keys on him, and I think I can break him. Your job is to watch me. Don't let him get to me. I'm counting on you."  
  
"Got it," she said, although she still had her doubts about this. They had spent the past hour looking for alternatives and finding none. All the evidence Tripp had now would lead to Aster, not Harwood, and they had to get something more to get a warrant for his office. They each had a miniature tape recorder in their pockets, for two copies of the coming interview. One more step they had taken was to write down their suspicions about the motive (leaving out a few unnecessary details on the method) and leave that note planted in their house, not obviously but where Eric and Speed would find it as soon as they started looking. If anything went wrong at this meeting and they disappeared, CSI and Tripp would have enough for a search warrant on Harwood. "What are your two keys?" she wondered. He had been quiet the whole drive over, but she could almost see the wheels turning, he had been thinking so fiercely.  
  
"Inefficiency and loss of control," said Horatio. "I think either one would rattle him. I'll try both."  
  
"Good idea. They would have bothered Chris Harwood." She was perfectly content to leave this mental wrestling match to Horatio. He could think much faster than she could. She would be keeping a wary eye on him, though, keeping him anchored in the present. His trust warmed her to her toes. Full and equal partners. That was marriage. "Horatio, if anything happens. . . "  
  
He silenced her with a look, shaking his head. "We aren't going to be defeated, Calleigh. We're stronger than he is. We have truth, and we have each other. It's no contest."  
  
She leaned across and kissed him deeply. "I love you, Horatio."  
  
"I love you, too." He returned her kiss with more, then broke away and got out of the car, calm, competent, in command. "Let's go break this guy."  
  
***  
  
"Mr. Harwood, Lieutenant Horatio Caine from the Miami-Dade Police would like a few words with you, when it's convenient." The secretary listened for a moment, then hung up. "Actually, he's free right now. We had a cancellation this morning. Go right on in."  
  
Horatio entered the office with an air of confidence as if it were his own. Paneled walls, leather chairs, and the proverbial couch over against one wall. Mark Harwood was just standing up behind his desk. He looked like an older version of Chris Harwood, more professional, with a thicker veneer, but the eyes were empty, yet calculating at the same time. Calleigh abruptly remembered the graphologist's description of Hitler, a man with a shrunken soul. Here was another one. She shivered slightly, then caught herself. Harwood hadn't seen it, though. His attention was locked on Horatio, as Horatio had predicted. Was there a faint flicker of puzzlement there as he studied him? Horatio hadn't even given the secretary Calleigh's name. She would be much more efficient in her role here if Harwood dismissed her as a nonentity.  
  
They sat in the two chairs side by side in front of the desk, and Harwood took his place behind it. "Lieutenant Caine, what can I do for you?"  
  
Horatio leaned back slightly in his chair. He was playing it to the hilt, smooth, polished, and confident. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask about one of your patients. It relates to a murder investigation. Actually, the victim was my ex-wife, Marcella. When did she start seeing you for counseling?"  
  
"About a year and a half ago," Harwood started, then pulled himself up slightly. It was an old interrogation trick, to begin a question with when did you instead of did you. Amazing how often that works, thought Calleigh. "I'm afraid I can't share exact details of our sessions, though. That's privileged information. I can say that she had a lovely personality to match her beautiful face."  
  
Horatio flinched slightly but didn't falter. When they had sat down, he had put his left hand across, resting it on Calleigh's right leg, and she was gripping it with both of her own, shielded by the desk. She tightened up the pressure, stroking it softly, holding him in the present. With that subtle but calculated shot, though, she instantly mentally convicted Harwood. He had done everything they suspected and more.  
  
"Yes, she was a beautiful person," Horatio agreed. "Could you tell us, without violating client privilege, when you saw her last? When you saw her last alive, that is? We're trying to create a timetable."  
  
Harwood weighed that question, considering his next move in this verbal chess match as he reassessed his opponent. From everything Marcella had said, this man should have had no sleep for three nights now and been haunted by images he couldn't get rid of. In fact, he should have been arrested himself, too. Yet here he was sitting across the desk, conducting the investigation. Harwood was scrambling slightly, and he wasn't used to it. "I saw her on March 30th. A Thursday. And she had an appointment this last Thursday, but she didn't show up."  
  
"We believe she was murdered last Tuesday, the 4th. Actually, we have quite a bit to go on in this investigation. The murderer was a bit sloppy in several areas. He made quite a few mistakes."  
  
That shot went home. Harwood became almost visibly a bit more ruffled. "Such as? What were his mistakes?"  
  
"He really has no concept of the finer points of material evidence," said Horatio. "The Crime Lab has already sifted through several false leads, and we are closing in on the real evidence now. He made a very amateur attempt at framing someone through a planted letter, for instance."  
  
Harwood tried to slow down his heart rate. It wasn't fear that was kicking it up but this man sitting there calmly when he should be mentally shattered by now. Horatio gave him an icy smile and waited politely for his opponent's next move. "How can you tell that letters are forged?" he asked. "Did the signatures on them turn out to be fakes? Surely you can compare them to the person's signature."  
  
"What makes you think there were signatures?" asked Horatio. "I'm referring to a letter found on the body, typewritten, without an actual handwritten signature. It was allegedly from a friend of Marcella's named Karen, but she denies it. Were you referring to some other letters, perhaps? There weren't any other letters found on the body."  
  
Harwood was starting to get confused, now. Was this man trying to trap him, or was it actually possible that they hadn't found the other letters? Was that why he wasn't arrested yet? "Karen. Yes, she mentioned a Karen. She also mentioned you once or twice."  
  
"I'm sure she did," said Horatio silkily. "I notice that you specialize in hypnotherapy. Did you ever have occasion to hypnotize Marcella?"  
  
"No," said Harwood. "It isn't something I use for all patients."  
  
"How do you use it? Just out of curiosity."  
  
"People who want to stop smoking, for instance, or to break a habit."  
  
"You can also implant ideas in people's minds, can't you?" asked Horatio. "Such as to combat depression, for instance."  
  
"Yes, it's really a fascinating field."  
  
"I'm sure the possibilities are endless." Horatio's eyes locked with Harwood's, and Harwood, still trying to work out how much this man knew, not to mention how he was still functional, launched a counterattack.  
  
"I hope you find whoever did this. To utterly destroy a face like that is beyond just killing. Who could obliterate beauty like that? A man who could do that would kill his own mother."  
  
That hit Horatio harder than anything yet, and his mind jumped, vaulting clear over Marcella to arrive instantly at Rosalind. Calleigh gripped his hand even harder, but he was slipping away from her, and he didn't return the pressure this time. She dug in all her fingernails on his hand, biting into the flesh deeply, literally drawing blood, and she finally felt him move, squeezing her back. Harwood had seen that remark score a hit, though. No one could have missed it. This man must be made of iron to resist his plots so well, but they weren't without effect. Horatio stared down at his hand for a moment, locked between Calleigh's two, then looked back up at Harwood, lasers coming to bear on cold steel.  
  
"How did you know her face was destroyed, Mr. Harwood? Marcella died by gunshot to the heart. Nothing about her face was reported in the papers."  
  
Harwood grasped for some explanation. "I must have heard it from somewhere."  
  
"Where would you have heard it? You don't have any connection to this investigation. Yet, anyway. You forgot how much information is public knowledge, didn't you? Quite inefficient of you."  
  
It was Harwood's turn to be jolted. Denial and anger rocked through him. Horatio was right, thought Calleigh, being accused of inefficiency was worse to this man than being accused of murder. Horatio saw his victory but also saw something else in Harwood's eyes. One thing he had gambled on was that Harwood wouldn't try anything extreme in his office in the middle of the morning, but he suddenly wasn't sure anymore. He slipped his right hand into his pocket unobtrusively and flipped open the cell phone without taking it out. Moving by feel, he dialed Tripp's number, then pushed his finger across the earpiece to avoid letting any sound escape. Right hand in his pocket, left hand locked in Calleigh's, he leaned forward a bit and followed his advantage, holding Harwood with his eyes.  
  
"You know, one point about hypnotizing people. They can always be rehypnotized by someone else. We can also interrogate people under the influence of drugs. Sodium pentathol. The person being questioned has no defenses, no control." There were major legal issues involved there, but Horatio was gambling that Harwood wouldn't know that.  
  
Fear gripped Harwood, and he actually broke out in a sweat. Being accused of inefficiency made him mad, but the thought of being interrogated under drugs, of having no control over his mind, terrified him. He quietly slipped his desk drawer over and pulled out a shiny revolver with a silencer on the end. "This game has gone far enough, Mr. Caine."  
  
"You keep a revolver in your desk," said Horatio, for Tripp's benefit. "How trite. Couldn't you be more original than that?"  
  
"Sorry, it's only a back up when other plans fail. I prefer to use other weapons."  
  
"I've noticed," said Horatio. "Any weapon can miss the target, though."  
  
Harwood stared at him. Calleigh might as well not have existed. "How are you doing this? There was nothing wrong with the plan."  
  
"There was a lot wrong with the plan," Horatio corrected him. "Beginning with immorality. The letters are fakes. We're onto Aster, but do you really think he's going to hold up under questioning? Especially when he is rehypnotized. And when they get down to questioning you, if they do have to use drugs, it should be interesting. Marcella wasn't the first." The idea of being questioned under drugs made Harwood flinch again. "There will also be evidence in your car, trace evidence from transporting the body." He hoped Tripp was moving while listening to all this.  
  
"But the plastic . . ." Harwood started, then broke off.  
  
Horatio gave him an icy smile. "You underestimate us, Mr. Harwood. There will also be records. I'm sure you keep records of your professional extracurricular activities somewhere."  
  
Harwood didn't deny the records, but like his brother, he abruptly felt an urge to explain why. "You don't understand what power is."  
  
"Wrong," said Horatio. "You don't understand what power is, because real power is based on truth. And the truth is that people are valuable of themselves. Your brother never realized that either." Calleigh shifted slightly, and he stroked her hand with his thumb. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. It's okay, he reassured her silently, and she settled back, believing him. He suddenly thought of Rosalind alive and tracked that thought out, letting Harwood see it. "My mother once told me that manipulation of people is a special kind of evil. But it is still evil, Mr. Harwood. She was a very perceptive person, my mother. And beautiful." Harwood was gaping at him. Marcella had sworn under hypnosis that he couldn't remember what his mother looked like. "And don't you think you'll get some attention by committing murder in an office building at 10:00 AM? Even with the silencer, our bodies are bound to get in the way. Maybe you should tell your secretary to cancel further appointments today."  
  
"I'd rather hypnotize you, but you can't do it against someone's will." Harwood shook his head. "I can deal with it, though. Maybe even frame one of the other patients for the murder."  
  
"Like you framed Aster. That won't hold up, you know."  
  
Harwood was honestly curious. "What's wrong with it?"  
  
"I'm sure they'll find the murder weapon in his house, but they won't find trace evidence in his car. And he's weak. When they question him under hypnosis, he'll give you away instantly."  
  
"How will they know to question him under hypnosis? You're not going to be telling anyone."  
  
"I already have," said Horatio. "If anything happens to us, you're signing your own death warrant. I left everything written down."  
  
"Right," said Harwood. "They all say that." He hesitated again. He wasn't unwilling to commit murder, but he did want all of his questions answered. "Why aren't you under arrest?"  
  
"The letters are forgeries, like I said."  
  
"It's your signature. Take it to any expert."  
  
"I already have. Did you know experts can tell tracings from actual written signatures? But I wouldn't have been arrested anyway. I had a cast iron alibi for the whole week."  
  
Harwood actually jumped. "What? She told me you would be alone that week. It was under hypnosis; she had to be telling the truth. She said you would always be alone."  
  
Horatio looked at him levelly. "She was wrong," he said, and his hand tightened around Calleigh's.  
  
"Freeze!" Tripp and reinforcements came barreling through the door, guns raised. Harwood wasn't suicidal. He slowly placed the gun on the desk and fell back on more routine methods of defense.  
  
"I want a lawyer."  
  
"You'll need one," said Horatio.  
  
"You're under arrest for murder," said Tripp. "Stand up and come around the desk slowly." Harwood complied, and as one of the other officers snapped the cuffs into place, Tripp turned to Horatio.  
  
"What took you so long?" asked Horatio curiously.  
  
"Had to trace the cell phone call. It takes a minute. Just what the hell did you think you were doing here?"  
  
"Taking your advice," said Horatio. Tripp gave him a puzzled glare. "You told me, when I found him, I should make myself an appointment."  
  
***  
  
Horatio and Calleigh sat side by side in one of the witness rooms at headquarters. They had just finished making statements and had also turned over the two tape recordings of the conversation. "Just a few minutes, while we get these typed up," said the sergeant, "and we'll be back for you to sign them."  
  
"Could you get me a first aid kit?" asked Calleigh. Horatio's hand had stopped bleeding, but it was scratched deeply in several places. The sergeant came back with one, then left again, and she gently started wiping the blood away, cleansing the cuts. "Sorry," she said needlessly.  
  
"I was glad you did it," said Horatio. "It pulled me back." He shivered slightly. "A man with a shrunken soul," he said, echoing Calleigh's earlier thought. "How many do you suppose are out there?"  
  
"Not as many as there are honest people. Truth is more powerful, remember?" She finished bandaging his hand and picked it up, kissing it gently. He smiled at her.  
  
"Quite a week. Calleigh, I promise you, one day we're going to settle down and lead a normal life."  
  
"Why would we want to do that?" she retorted. "Look at it this way, Horatio, we're never bored."  
  
"True," he said. A knock sounded on the door, and the captain entered.  
  
"Horatio, I just heard about Mark Harwood." He noticed the bandaged hand. "Did you hurt yourself taking him down?"  
  
"Just scratched it on something." Horatio stood up to face his superior. "So am I reinstated?"  
  
The captain surveyed him. No cracks were visible, but they had to be there. Being framed for your ex-wife's murder was enough to stress anyone. "Not so fast."  
  
"What?" Calleigh stood up alongside Horatio. "It was a set up. The whole thing was a set up."  
  
"His offense was," the captain reminded her. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and removed a key from it. "You are both still on suspension until next Monday. I have a cabin up in the Smokey Mountains, and for the next three days, you are confined to that cabin or to its near vicinity." He handed over the key. "And I hope you'll use the time to think over your sins," he said, eyeing Calleigh.  
  
"Yes, sir," she said. "I promise, I will never assault my supervisor again." She put one hand on Horatio's arm.  
  
The captain extended his hand, and Horatio took it. "I am sorry about this week, Horatio, but you understand, I had to take action."  
  
"I understand perfectly, sir," he said. "No offense taken."  
  
"Now," said the captain, "as soon as those statements get signed, you are to report to that cabin without delay. And I don't want to see you back until Monday. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir," said Horatio and Calleigh together.  
  
***  
  
The entire first shift at CSI was waiting in the hall when Horatio and Calleigh entered Monday morning. They broke into spontaneous applause, and Horatio, touched, hid it under a front of gruffness. "Come on, people, stop hanging around and get to work." Wilson watched, amazed, as the team instantly and willingly responded. The words were nearly the same as his, but the reaction was as different as night and day. He walked across to Horatio himself.  
  
"Lieutenant Caine, welcome back. I hope you'll find things not too far behind. I'm transferring back to my old town. Miami is just too big of a city for me, I think."  
  
"It grows on you, though," said Horatio. "Best of luck, Lieutenant." They shook hands, and Wilson, with a nervous glance at Calleigh, entered the elevator. Horatio grinned at her as the elevator doors closed. "Wish I'd seen you smack him."  
  
"You can," said Speed, behind them. "The security camera got the whole thing. The team has been watching it all week. There are probably 20 copies floating around by now." All of them laughed.  
  
"Save one for me, will you? I'd better go up and see what damage has been done in my office." He turned away, then hesitated, looking back at Speed. "Did you want something, Speed?"  
  
"Um, no. Just welcome back, H."  
  
"Thank you." Horatio left for his office, and Speed's eyes tracked him. Calleigh touched him lightly on the arm.  
  
"Hey, you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, fine. Better get back to work, before the boss gets mad at us." He headed back for Trace, still thinking about Horatio. The thing that surprised Speed most, thinking it over all weekend, was that Horatio had stayed in Miami all his life. Speed's first reaction would have been distance, physical as well as emotional. But Horatio had stayed here, still loved the city. He shook his head again, and his cell phone rang. "Hello. Hey, Breeze! Thanks for calling. Look, I am really sorry about the other night. An emergency came up, and. . . " Delko, crossing through the lab, looked across at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Speed returned it. "This weekend? Yeah, that'd be good." He hesitated. "I can't promise nothing will come up - the job takes over sometimes - but I promise if it does, I'll call you this time. Great, see you then."  
  
Up in his office, Horatio was staring aghast at the tangled up mass of paperwork on his desk. Had Wilson done anything other than annoy the team last week? With a sigh, he dove in, sorting it neatly into stacks first of all, categorizing the mess. A knock sounded gently on his door, and he looked up to see Alexx.  
  
"Hi, Alexx. Missed you."  
  
"We all missed you. As you can probably tell." She came across and handed him a cup of coffee, a welcome back gift. "Horatio." She waited until he had looked back up from the paperwork to meet her eyes. She wanted an honest assessment of him. "Are you okay?" She didn't limit the question. He could make as little or as much of it as he chose to.  
  
He gave her the honor of not dismissing it. "I'm fine, Alexx." He was, she decided. By his definition, anyway, and Calleigh was improving that definition all the time. At least he wasn't alone anymore.  
  
"I'd better get back to work. Just wanted to welcome you back." She smiled at him and started for the door.  
  
"Alexx." She turned back. "Thank you." He smiled at her, and she returned it and then left, heading down the stairs.  
  
She stopped at the bottom and looked back up at the glass window. She could see Horatio working at his desk. He had already reduced the mess to some organization. "We did miss you, Horatio," she said softly, then headed for her own work. Around her, CSI gradually returned to normal.  
  
*** ***  
  
In the next episode of CSI:Miami (Fearful Symmetry): Breeze finds a body, and an injury threatens to end Calleigh's career at CSI. 


End file.
